Nuclear Winter is Coming
by AncalagonTheBlack42
Summary: In a strange catastrophe, post-apocalyptic Boston is taken piece by piece by Unknown forces into a medieval continent, while the Iron Islands finds itself with a new landmass, meanwhile, in the east other changes ensue as a different change comes.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Sheffield was exceptionally grateful for having been allowed a place at Sanctuary Hills, one of the first places the Sole Survivor had visited upon emerging from his ancient slumber.

He had helped Sheffield truly kick his addictions to drugs by providing him with safe alternatives like Nuka Cola, along with jobs throughout the settlements. Polishing the cannons that would defend them from Raider attacks would be a decent job, if a boring one for him.

He missed the good old days, before addiction and homelessness had ruined his life, but he loved being useful again. It would be too late to settle down and form a family, but having something to believe in again was something he would never sacrifice.

It was night, while the rest of the settlement, including Nate himself were fast asleep. Only Codsworth and Strong were wondering around, while Dogmeat was in his kennel. So he was satisfied with this new position. Only he noticed something. "What's that?" he exclaimed as lights started to appear in the horizon.

That was soon followed by what looked as if reality itself was shuddering, as it blurred and things began to change. It wasn't at the immediate borders of Sanctuary Hill, but on the hilltop short of Vault 111. He saw that the previously barren woods were being replaced with a woody environment instead, with birds flying out in app directions from the confusion. He had to see what was going on.

The green forest was much bigger than he thought. He had previously believed that little lied to the north of the Commonwealth but wasteland. Maybe there was some kind of city in former Canada. But it looked like they were no longer in the wastes. Maybe the commonwealth had been taken back in time? 'No way' he thought, for that was magic and that didn't exist of course.

The forests were exceptionally full of life and... green. It was beautiful to see so much thriving here, even if it was quite cold. He took some berries and stuffed them into his mouth. 'This is great' he thought. 'New life and a new chance at it!' As owls hooted, another creature supposedly extinct, he wondered if the settlement and area had been shifted to a whole other world. He didn't encounter any people for an hour or two of walking, until he saw some men with what looked like horses, those things which had died long ago in the Great War.

And yet here they were. The men looked medieval in their format, which was strange indeed. They were tired and were clearly not used to going out at night at such times. Maybe he had gone further back than he thought, back to the Middle Ages? He remembered lessons in Diamond City vaguely, but this seemed to strange to be true. Why be sent back to the medieval world? And it wasn't just him, a significant chunk of land had been sent here. Maybe the rest of the Commonwealth was here too? He wanted to go over and ask them what was happening.

"Scuse me, but do you know where we are?" He plucked up the courage to say to these strange people.

They looked at him with a confused appearance. "The forests of the Neck, about 25 miles to the south-west of Moat Cailin and 35 miles north of Greywater Watch for that matter. What's up with your accent? You sound like you're not from around here. We've already seen some strange hairless rats roaming around. Bit my leg they did".

Sheffield didn't know how to reply, but tried regardless. "We..., I dunno, just appeared here in this forest in the middle of somewhere. I've never heard of this Greywater place, where exactly is that? Are we in Canada? Names Sheffield by the way."

"You don't know where we are?" The man said. "We're near the Neck, in the North, in the land of Westeros. Where else would we be? You must be drunk!" His companion shoved him aside and said "forgive me for my companion Selwyn's boldness, he's always suspicious of strangers. My names Gared, and we're soldiers of House Reed. Would you like to go to the tavern for a drink of ale?"

"Sure, why not?" He said as they started on their way towards the tavern. A few minutes into their journey they were cut short. Sheffield went to pee next to a stump and a grey rock. Gared and Selwyn stood around waiting for their new conpanion so they could continue. He could hear rustling in the bushes. He finished a few seconds later and turned around to face the guys. "So, what direction to the tavern? I can't wait to get my hands on some girls and booze!" He said.

Gared was intrigued "what's this booze you talkin' about?" Sheffield replied "Oh, you know alcohol. I brought some vodka along if you guys want to try it". Nate had forbidden him from drinking, but he wasn't here, so it was his choice now. "Here you go" as he threw it their way, with Gared putting it in his bag.

The men replied- "Sounds good to me, it'd be nice to... Oh", they slowly turned from curiosity to fear to downright terror on their faces.

"Dire! Run" Selwyn cried as they fled the scene as quickly as they could. Sheffield turned around to see what te fuss was about and came face to face with the biggest dog he had ever scene. It was covered in fur like a wolf, but must have been nearly as big as the horse, and with razor sharp teeth. It looked hungry.

"Nice doggy" Sheffield whimpered as the dog approached. He felt his own urine down his legs as it opened its mouth. "Goodbye, cruel world" he whispered as the beast pounced.


	2. The Sole Survivor I

The night was a rough one for him again. He dreamt of many things. Of the resource wars, campaigning for peacekeeping. Of Ancourage, where he had fought for his country against Chinese communists, of having Natalie by him again with Shaun. A perfect happy family. His dreams were also filled with more dreaded things. Of the days that changed his life. Even every night, he could here Kellogg's disturbed voice echoing in his dreams. He would, and could, never forget these things. As he felt his consciousness regain, he anticipated another ordinary day in Sanctuary.

Nate woke to the sound of alarm bells. He got up as quickly as he could, got changed into his working gear and set out to see the conundrum. Sanctuary Hills was his old home that he had known before the War, and he was close to even when the Castle was the Minutemen's Capital. The memories before the war were vivid and strong. Green fields, life full trees, birds in the air and cars that actually worked. Now the world was a wasteland, and he was adapting to its new state. He had rebuilt the Castle, been in contact with both the Brotherhood of Steel and Diamond City, and was on his way to contacting the Institute and equally mysterious Railroad, on opposite ends of the spectrum and dealing with synths. So much had changed, and yet human nature had not.

What was causing the alarm was a mystery to him. In previous times, it had been because of attacks from raiders, gunners, ghouls or even supermutants. This new threat had apparently appeared and he had no idea what it was. He got up, quickly slipped out of his bedroom gear and into his vault suit, covered in armour to reinforce. He grabbed his weapons and went for the door, which he himself had built. He went down the stairs of his new accomodation to the new scene. He cleared his eyes and saw no threat around to launch himself against, which was very unusual. The minuteman statue that had stood since the United States first formed as a nation looked proudly on into the horizon, as if bearing witness to the unstoppable tide of the human will.

"What's going on? What's all the fuss about?" He stated as a crowd of settlers and leaders was gathered outside. People were clearly afraid, though it was impossible to say what.

Preston Garvey, the man who had introduced him to the Minutemen, turned to him and said "Things are strange, General. Sheffield disappeared in the night, and we can't seem to find him anywhere. At least not in _our_ territory".

Nathan was confused. "What do you mean by that, the Minutemen's lands? Has he gone to a new settlement or something?" He thought.

Preston shook his head. "Look up, General. Do you notice something different?" He did. There were song birds in the sky looking for grain. Things that hadn't been seen since before the War. This was different indeed. The sky was foggier than normal to, though not unbearable and not in the radioactive sense. "Different weather perhaps? What if the birds migrated from Maine or Canada?" He didn't know how to rationalise it.

One minutewoman stated plainly- "It's more than that sir, the territory north of Boston had been replaced with forests. Proper forests I mean, and we've heard radio reports from scouts that the swamps extend further south than before, and also have forests. There's been reports of traders with one headed Brahmin and these 'horses' like a living 'Giddyup Buttercup' had come to life! At the edges of Boston territory at least. Reports from the castle claim of some fishermen from the 'Riverlands' wanted to trade with us. Not many seem to know what's happening at the moment." She sounded confused as well. Nathan wasn't sure how to deal with this new threat.

"Uh, this is getting really strange. You're saying our lands around us have changed?" She nodded. "That's not physically possible. Things like that can't just happen at random. There must be some form of communication error or something."

"Nope. We can contact the other stations just fine. They're all saying the same thing. Even the seas to the coast are changed. There's more fish there than before, and seabirds all around. Ones without mutation too!" Nathan was not expecting such a course of action, and in all honesty, he felt powerless as the situation had flipped so dramatically. He still needed to resolve the many issues of the Commonwealth itself. But he had a duty to the people as a whole, and so action needed to be taken!  
"So what course of action should we take, General?" Preston asked. "I think any help the settlements here need can be put on hold, within reason at least. Whatever it is, I'll join you in it. You've served us faithfully ever since you joined." He always had a way of hitting Nathan hard in that respect, appealing to duty.

He composed himself, walked up to the pedastal and spoke up to his comrades. "We head north for an expedition to these new lands. As insane as it sounds, the land around Boston has been replaced with...something else. And if this is a threat to us and our way of life, it has to be dealt with as soon as possible. Bring as many from the northern most camps as possible, even some artillery if necessary. We head north around 2pm. Mobilise the expedition. I'll bring my personal allies as well. I'm sure they can be of great use here." He said this as the others quickly got to work in the situation. He approached his old friend Codsworth first, who was even more confused than he was.

"Dad, what's happening here?" The robot questioned. Nathan hesitated and answered with whit.

"We went back in time to before the war and everything's the way it was! Now we can go back to our old neighbours and have that dinner you planned." He said with snark.

"I'm not finding that one funny, sir." Codsworth replied. "You know it hasn't been long since we lost Mum and little Shaun. I can't afford to lose you too. I might go mad!" The bot wirred anxiously as he heard the news of this new situation.

"Alright alright, we appear to have been transformed in our surroundings. The area around the Commonwealth has apparently changed to a pre-war like state and I'm asking if you can come in our expedition to find out what's going on. Some more adventuring of you and me. You'll love it for sure."

The robot looked down with his optical sensors. "Ok, but promise me you won't get killed, and that we can get back home safely."

Nathan had a reassuring smile on his face, putting his hand on the robots main piece. "I promise."

Next in the base was Strong, a much simpler creature. He was a supermutant, a group of powerful and dangerous mutated creatures, a result of genetic modification gone wrong, with great strength and endurance but low intelligence. Strong was big and powerful even by their standards, a head taller than the rest of his kin in fact, which would probably mean he was near nine feet in height, and over two feet wide at the shoulders. Not a guy to pick a fistfight with. He looked with curiosity at Nathan. "Strong confused. Humans scared of new green forest in distance. Sturges say enemies live there. Strong wants to smash enemies!" He raised his fists in the air hoping for a battle.

Nathan held his up in protest. "It's ok, big guy, it's ok. We don't know if there are enemies or monsters in this new land, but I'd like you to come just in case. There'll probably be more humans to meet, and perhaps if things go a certain way, smash. I'd like you to come with me."

Strong approved of this and readied his super-sledge. "Friendly humans should share and help each other, not sneak around and hurt us. Strong thinks outer humans help find Milk of Human Kindness and allow Strong to drink it. Super mutants can find new lands with humans then."

"Sure, big guy" Nathan replied with a smile, trying to keep the genocidal tendencies of his friend under wraps. "Now get your weapons ready, we set up north in a couple hours."

Next up were Piper, Hancock and Macready who were going here to trade goods but had run into all this ruckus in their view. A bit of charm and promises of making new stories easily took Piper and Hancock, but Macready was more interested in doing his own expedition into the new territory, particularly if anyone around could hire him for a new job. He went on his own like he often did. Now they along with the other recruits and some volunteers were ready for their expedition, only a matter of giving the command to the Castle remained.

At 2 pm, Nathan Green, the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 and leader of the Minutemen made an announcement to all Minutemen forces and those aligned on the Minutemen radio, perhaps recieved by those in Diamond City too. "Minutemen and allies, civilians and military alike. We are in a situation not seen since the Great War. We find our selves surrounded by a new Unknown territory, with different people living there, who could be nice or could be completely hostile, or anywhere in between. We have lost all communication outside the greater Boston area, and so any vague connections we may have out there are gone. We are in a new age altogether, and so we must not be scared, but be vigilant. This may be frightening for all of us, but this is the best option we have and we should take it as a chance to expand and flourish, and bring justice to a whole new land too. For the Minutemen!"

He closed, with a sturdy and welcoming reply from the base, both those in the expedition and those staying out. _Maybe we can find Sheffield again. God knows he needs us,_ he thought as he started setting out.

The first landmark he passed was his old shelter of Vault 111, the place where he had lost his dear wife and son to that bastard Kellogg. He had been of great relief when he put a bullet in the brain of that scum. Being in his brain was just as strange an experience for sure. But now the vault was empty again, at least as far as he knew. It was the same as usual, except for these strange people on a living horse. A horse! He had seen horses as a child- truly beautiful and majestic creatures, but had never rode one himself. The men appeared to be soldiers dressed in medieval armour, with shields carrying the banner of what looked like a black crocodile or alligator. It was as if they had come out of a pre-war fancy dress party, and had clearly blown their budget on it!

The men were puzzled and looked like they were trying to figure out what the vault door was. One of these men went towards the shack when he saw Nathan and froze. He drew his sword and called "who goes there?" This was truly surreal. A group of medieval men with swords and shields in the Commonwealth? This was unheard of. These must have been these people that had arrived from the lands beyond.

Strong took it as a threat and began to charge forward. "Strong smash anyone who threaten Strong's friends" the giant said as he approached. One of the men looked as if he was pissing himself.

"No!" Nate said as the giant came within inches of the man, who was clearly pissing himself in fear. "We don't want to fight, OK? We just want to know what's going on here." He tried to cool the situation down.

The man backed down and put his sword back in his holster. "Sorry, me friends over there had said that there was a strange appearance down a few miles from Moat Cailin and that a new land had appeared. A city of some sort like King's Landing!" He scratched his head. "I didn't believe them of course, but here you are. They said they met a man called 'Sheffield' who came from Sanctuary Hills. You know of this place?" He said. Nate nodded.

"Yeah, I'm in charge there. What's your name?" He hesitated and replied. "I'm commander Eddard of House Blackmyre, bannermen and vassals to House Reed. I lead an encampment nearby." He extended his hand.

Nate replied- "The name's Nathan Green, but you can call me Nate. Nice to meet you." He took his out and the two shook hands, a mutual sign of respect that even these bizarre medieval englishmen knew well. "Do you know what happened to my friend Sheffield? It would be very useful information, please."

One of the men came. "My names Gared. Last time we saw poor Sheffield, he was cornered with a Dire wolf. We heard a scream but nothing else from him. May he be at peace." He clearly looked traumatised by what he saw. _A shame_ , Nathan thought. _He had such potential_. _Wait a minute, did he say a direwolf?_ That couldn't be right!

What in the hell is a 'die-ehr' wolf supposed to be?" Hancock said in surprise. The other man was shocked at the look of the ghoul but tried to keep himself composed. Gared replied- "It's like a wolf but the size of a pony or even a small horse. We haven't seen one this far south in centuries, so this is very strange times. And what's this with having a woman in your ranks? Since when can women fight?"

They were obviously talking about Piper, who had a disgusted look on her face- "Listen here, you mysogynistic assholes, you better have a good excuse for me not to-" Nathan put a hand between her and the soldiers before she could get her laser pistol out, though she nearly took it out of her holster.

"What are those tubes in your pocket there?" They some kind of crossbow or the like?" Gared pointed to the pistol in Nathan's holster.

Preston interjected and explained. No, these are guns. They use gunpowder or some other small explosive to fire a small metal projectile known as a bullet into a target at great speed, often killing or injuring the target. But of course it depends on the type and size of the bullet and what type of gun it is. Far deadlier, quicker and easier to use than any crossbow." The men marvelled at it.

Nate remembered from school lessons that find made the medieval concept of knighthood obsolete as now anyone could wield one in defence or attack. A quote he remembered his teacher give was "God created men and Sam Colt made them equal!" This certainly seemed to ring true, though not as much in the Wasteland as before the War. And those guns were far more primitive and inefficient than even pipe rifles. God knows how these medieval folk would react to a machine gun or artillery, he thought. "So, where are we exactly? Who do you answer to?"

The men looked at each other. The shy man, whom he figured was Selwyn stated "we are bannermen of House Reed, led by Howland Reed in te castle of Greywater Watch." "Is he the king?" Nate asked, though Preston clearly was going to say something similar.

"No," said Gared- "he is merely our Lord, himself a banner man to the Starks of Winterfell, the lords of all the North. I've heard the King and his men are coming from down south to see Winterfell for business. Our Lord Howland was very close to Eddard Stark in younger days, so if you wanted to ask around, they'd be the best people to talk to. We can show you the way, though it'll take a while to get there. Moat Cailin is the safest way around, though not the quickest, as us Reeds know. Your new lands just made that journey even more complicated! We can take you up to Winterfell that way if you prefer." _If only we had a Vertibird,_ he thought as they started on their journey.

He turned around to Sturges. "Alright, you're in charge of the camp in my absence. Tell those at the Castle to send envoys down to Greywater Watch so we can contact the Reeds, the swamps between the two territories link so that should be helpful. We may even have a speedboat around somewhere like that the Nakanos, if not theirs if necessary. That'd make things much easier than rowing."

"Alright General, you got it!" He replied as he headed back to the radio station in the settlement. He turned back to Gared and Selwyn.

"Shall we go, General?" They asked enthusiastically. "We have horses and carriages if you need them! It'll take a long time though, I'll warn."

Nathan turned to them. "Sure thing. We'll set up and see all the wonders your lands have!" Now the journey into the unknown north would begin.

 **Three weeks later.**

The journey in the carriage had been long and awkward. They had hunted and harvested whatever they could find on their way there, often camping in the forests or in lodges a local lord would offer. Many were creatures that were unfamiliar to the Wastelanders, such as normal non-mutated deer, rabbits, wild boar, aurochs and their domestic chickens.

Some of the meat though, belonged to more familiar beasts of the wasteland, such as the mirelurks that had spread across not only the bogs but gradually made their way into related freshwater bodies like streams and ponds-a sign of an introduced species spreading rapidly and becoming an invasibe one. There were also radstags, mole rats, Yao-Guis, Brahmin and such, and even one day they encountered a terrifying centaur, which even the Wastelanders were shocked at how ugly it was. Even its meat didn't taste particularly nice, so others of its kind were left alone.

The more familiar animals of the Wasteland were of course more comfortable for all those involved of Wasteland, though these 'Northerners' were terrified of them. Apparently they were now only a couple of hours away from reaching Winterfell, he had overheard. The weather was unquestionably cold and frigid, especially by the standards of what they called 'summer'. Who knows what was coming next up north?

"There it is, the great, millennia old hold of Winterfell!" Gared pointed as the huge castle came into view. The farmers in the fields stared with disgust at Hancock, fear with Strong and intrigue at Codsworth, but this wasn't so unfamiliar, and they were becoming used to it at this point. Three weeks could change anyone's perspective after all, as he knew back in the Commonwealth.

"Strong disappointed there no fighting. Strong love more fight!" He hadn't gone on a hunt in five days. Part of this was because he wasn't particularly good at stealth, though his brute power was good for attacking Giant elk and Mirelurks, who had very nutritious meat. His hands also helped them gather fruit and nuts out of reach normally, so he was a great asset for gathering.

Nathan stood to reach the giant who was now sat down. "Listen, big guy. We're almost there, they'll show you how to train with proper swords and weapons. We could teach these people some new tricks! There'll be loads to do here, and lots to learn for everyone!"

Piper turned to him and smiled. "You're right. Diamond City would love to hear about these new lands and how we're going and changing things. I can introduce things like the printing press, ink, paper and guns, and you can teach them about... well, everything really!" She laughed.

Those moving the carriage shouted back- "we can hear you, ya know! We may not have your fancy items and weapons, but we're not idiots!"

"Sorry, hahaha." Piper replied. She put her hand on Nathan's thigh-she'd always been flirty, but never this much. . It was clear she'd been drinking from the wine from the merchants as well as her own bottle of brandy shed brought.

Preston sighed- "what did I tell you about mixing drinks, Piper, this isn't the state you want to be in when you get to Winterfell is it?"

She threw an arm across - "screw you, Preston, why you always gotta ruin our fuuuun? Tell em', Blue." She said this as she fell to the side and passed out. Nathan sighed and turned to the bodyguards.

"Guys, take care of her before we get to the city. She can't be seen in this state in front of the lords and ladies. Apparently it's only a week, maybe two till the Royal party reached here, so we better not mess anything up. Or it's all our heads. We may have technology, but they clearly have numbers on their side, and our technology bonus might not last long."

He looked outside and saw the bleak but sunny day outside. Fields extended out for miles, with forests in the distance to te north of the great castle and holding. Behind the carriage were Codsworth hovering with his inbuilt rocket, Hancock riding a white mare, now wearing a cowl to conceal his ghoulish features, and Dogmeat, who while not initially one of the group, had eventually caught up with the party to join them in their journey. Codsworth often got many questions from locals among the journey for being the 'Steel One', for it was impossible to disguise him as anything remotely human.

But now they were happy, as they were approaching the gates of Winterfell and a man with a white busy beard came out, while a younger rugged man came out afterwards He had the appearance of seeing many things, and yet he was clearly dumbstruck at the sight of things. Hanging around on the edge of the door were a couple of boys who probably were the sons of one of them. They were now just a few hundred yards, if that from the gates, which were gradually opened. The men went inside. Nathan sat back and prepared himself.

Once they were inside the gates, Nathan confidently exited his vehicle with Preston and his men in tow, giving the appearnace of bodyguards. Nathan gave one of these golden coins to the carriage driver, who thanked him and stayed around, too nervous to ride off again perhaps. Nathan straightened himself up as the lords of Winterfell were coming up. Preston and the hooded Hancock shared this.

The grey haired man approached first. "You outsiders are here because of decree from our Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, with permission from Greywater Watch. They claim you and your 'Minutemen' from this city of Boston are friendly to us and so shall be allowed in. But make no mistake. Any actions we do not approve of will be dealt with swiftly, may that be understood."

The other man, who must have been 'Lord' Eddard, came up and explained. "I received Ravens from my old friend Howland Reed and from Moat Cailin of your new lands put into our own, along with reports of many strange things that are unheard of to our people. There is talk of gigantic crabs that can hunt men, reanimated wights that attack the living, monstrous Demons like dragons, green giants that take men away to be eaten- similar to the one in your party," his eyes lit up, for it appeared that Strong had already exited the carriage and as Nathan turned, he was stretching his tree-trunk like arms. He turned back to the Lord of the 'North', who continued. "...enormous insects, of hairless dogs, savages and even beings made of metal. These and other things he claims have terrorised his land, while in the night, peasants are disappearing in their fields, most never to be heard from. Some though have been reappearing with different behaviour. Are all of these aspects of the land you live true? Did you cause this, and if so, why did you have to bring it upon us?" Nathan hesitated before saying, deciding upon a sarcastic one.

"Yes, I, the evil Nathan have laid siege to your world. All bow before me!" The northerners started to prepare to draw their swords. "Woah, I'm joking by the way." He turned to Preston, who shook his head. "I don't know what caused our worlds to merge, for Boston to be taken from my world to yours without warning. All I heard was that there were green lights and that we were taken here." This was true, as it was consistent with the reports of those who had percieved something during that fateful night. "But all we can do now is adapt to this new world."

This Eddard was intrigued- "what happened to your world to have these kinds of horrors?"

Preston stepped and replied- "the Great War. A load of bombs fell and destroyed most of the world's cities. The civilisations of the world collapsed into chaos, and it took centuries for us to get somewhere even approaching a recovery. We were one of the safest of all the cities, and so the damage wasn't so bad. You should see the Capital Wasteland- barely any civilisation is there at all!" Eddard stood and remained confused at all these things Nathan was trying to explain.

The steward sighed- "these are dark times indeed, Ned, a new city added to the kingdom, monsters and outlaws with new weapons we've never seen, and people disappearing in the night. And as your house says, winter is coming."

Ned nodded. "Very well, it is time for you and your people to be introduced to ours," and he escorted Nathan and his crew to their chambers. As he entered the courtyards of the great castle, people of all ages and professions gathered around to see the strange newcomers, with many in shock and horror, and the most mild mannered in curiosity. A girl with auburn hair screamed at the sight of the huge and green Strong as he approached her, while a younger girl of dark hair was intrigued at Codsworth's strange form, with peasant children gathering around him.

Ned showed them a group of barracks. "You will be given accommodation in the normal guest rooms. If you can build your own settlements, that will be fine with us. The dog will stay in the kennels with the hounds and the dire wolves unless the situation arises where that is dangerous. We do not have any for your 'mootunt' friend or the 'robot', so they will have to make do with what they can find. It would be of all our best interests of your stranger friends can stay out of sight when King Robert arrives next week, or else more-" he was cut short by another person coming in, urgently by the state of him.

The guy was a young man, probably only nineteen by the look of him, with shoulder length black hair, a chiselled, attractive look to him and what looked like a squid on his breastplate. He called out- "Lord Eddard, I've received word from Pyke. A new island has joined the Iron Islands and they too are receiving word of new monsters and metal beings through fishermen's reports and more. They also claim to talk about some 'fog' spreading around and driving fishermen mad." Eddard gave a disapproving look for the interruption, and before the youth could carry on, Ned had his assertion ready.

"Thank you for the information, Theon, but we've got enough problems as it is in the North, it's of grave news that such terrors are spreading elsewhere in the Seven Kingdoms. Things are tense as they are, we don't need to start a war with some new opponents. Go and tell the children." Theon nodded and trundled off to do whatever he needed to do.

Ned turned back to Nathan and Preston. "You can stay as long as you need, but we can't hold you here forever. My mentor, Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King, is dead and the King has come to discuss matters of the realm as a result of this. I suspect the Lannisters had something to do with this."

"The who?" Nathan asked. The man known as Cassel he later found out, handed him a primitive looking book entitled 'The people's of Westeros', saying "It's somewhat old, but this will teach you about our history, houses great and small and politics, and what's what here in case you know nothing about us."

Nathan said "thanks, I guess" and went back to his chambers to read, though Preston wanted to follow him.

"General, this is the biggest thing we've ever been through. The risk is enormous and we can't afford to get too invested here. It could lead to our downfall if we go all in too early. We need to keep alert in this situation, so whatever you do, do the right thing. Good evening, general."

He said as he went down to his own. "Here we go," Nathan thought as he laid his head on the pillow, opened the book and awaited the next phase of this journey.


	3. The Iron Kraken I

The Old Way had held under many great changes in Westeros. The Andal invasion, the Valyrians and the Baratheons. Whichever situation arose, the Ironborn and House Greyjoy had adapted to the situation. Victarion never had the interest in learning the past besides great reavers, but even these reavers would surely struggle with how to react to this news!

News had come to Pyke of this new island in the chain, one that had not been there the night before! Rumours among fishermen spread of new lands and of strange locals.

Victarion did not initially believe such reports, dismissing them as simple insanity and the dreams of sailors wanting glory the easy way, without the reaving expected of their people. That was, until he found sailors from these islands who had gone up to see his fleet and attack- godless savages who fought with firey tubes and hooked weapons, crude as they were. While the tubes killed many of his men, they fortunately missed or bounded off his armour plate, and once the battle was over, he had offered the surviving attackers as sacrifices to the Drowned God. This and other reports, such as a spreading fog which would drive fishermen and reaver alike into madness concerned many.

Lord Rodrick Harlaw, his brother-by marriage, stated that a group of his men had even been attacked by some strange crab like monsters from the sea! These could not have been the Deep Ones who serve the Drowned God either, for those were fish-like and would serve as mentors to the Ironborn, not savage monsters. It was said that these monstrous crabs could resist many blows from sword, hammer or axe anywhere on them except for their face, which would be dispatched through a simple stab or bolt of a crossbow. With regards to the savages and fishermen, Harlaw's men had taken them in and given them accomodation, whether in an inn or in prison. It was not the Iron way to deal with such attackers, but the Harlaws were their own kind of people.

Balon had heard enough reports to take action and had sent his brother and a small fleet of about eleven led by the _Iron Victory_ to investigate the rumours of this new land. And it was true, this island was quite large, similar to Orkmont or Pyke in size, and seemed far more exotic and strange.

The first place Victarion saw through the thick and unnatural fog was a crashed ship of a strange form. It was made not of wood, but steel, in a rusty form. It was also huge- larger even than King's Landing's biggest ships. What's more is that it looked like people had settled it. Perhaps they would be some of these new savages present? Or maybe they were just peaceful locals to reave and to pay tribute to Pyke. Either way, he wanted to find out who these locals could be.

He got off the ship to come and see these locals, hoping they would be an easy conquest. Once they saw him, they revealed their true colours. Vic had come expecting immediate plunder, only to find they were the same kind of savages from the boat, with their tubes that shot fire and metal! He dodged their blows and got out his huge axe to cut threw them. They cried out insane gestures of a man who had lost his mind.

One cried out "You'll never escape the fog, it'll take ya-" before Vic buried his axe in the man's head, going all the way down to the neck, and spurting blood out the wound like a stream. The other fighting men had looks of shock and yet continued to fight. A few only laughed more.

Victarion called out his warriors with a gesture, with them coming to his aid with axe, sword or crossbow to take out these upstarts. He, Ragnar, Wolfe and the brothers Quellon and Burton, along with several foot soldiers burst out of the ship to participate in the attack, while another two ships landed and boarded the bases of the vessel. Men of the Iron fleet poured out to meet the enemy head on. They attacked with the classic fury of the Ironborn, using determination and numbers to overcome the locals. "Let us show these trapper vermin what real men are made of!" He could hear Quellon burt out. So they were called Trappers! Victarion wondered why that could be, glancing over the metal circles on the floor as a wary young reaver caught his foot in one and yelled like some wench. A few trappers stabbed him with their hooks at this moment. A coward he was for sure!

Wolfe got out a sword and quick slashed the throat of one of the larger trappers, while the latter was chanting some strange battle cry. They had thick unusual accents that he had never heard before, but they clearly spoke the Common Tongue, which was of note. He didn't think of it, though as he was busy cutting through their ranks.

Another man screamed "dieee, mainlanders!" before being butchered by crossbow bolts, staggering forward only to drop his axe at Ragnar's feet. "We're no mainlanders, we're Ironborn!" Wolfe said as he stabbed the man in the back. He saw some strange lifting mechanism once the troops were done with cutting the outside of the ship down, and shouted to his men.

"Alright, only five of us on at a time on this thing. Do any of you know how this works? There's no leaver or pulley anywhere here! What sorcery are they using?"

Burton came with one of the Trapper's weapons in his hand- "this could be of great use to us in future. You've got to press that red button there, according to this man here." He had a trapper under his arm with a dagger to his throat. Victarion fumbled to see where the red "button" was. "What's a button?" He asked. The captive answered- "Fooool! The red thing there!" To which Burton smacked him in the gut.

Vic fumbled around further until he realised it was right in front of him. He pressed it and he and the men on the deck were taken up. Burton shouted "what shall we do with this one?" As the man struggled in his arms. Vic replied "drown him. If he is reborn, he can join us and teach us these new ways of life. If not, then he can face the Drowned God's wrath."

Vic turned around and saw more trappers, with one of them in better armour and with an improved weapon compared to the others- it looked like some kind of harpoon firing mechanism. He spoke. "Name's Bilge. See you assholes taking my men, you showing no respect to us, and now, you gotta pay" as he arched up his harpoon fun and fired straight at Ragnar, impaling in the heart and going right through his armour without issue.

He chocked blood from his mouth and fell to the floor head first. Victarion was shocked at the speed and charged at this Bilge, his eyes thirsty for revenge.

"You'll regret the day you challenged Victarion Greyjoy and his men, savage!" He bellowed as he flung his weapon.

The blow of his axe at first only dented the man's armour as he swiped Victarion aside. Vic was a huge man at six feet and ten inches tall and with a powerful, muscular body, compared to this man's height of around six and three, but the man's armour seemed to grant him unnatural strength, as well as shielding from arrows through a sheath at the top of the chest piece. However, this also obscured his vision, allowing Victarion to leave it from time to time.

He needed to find a weakness in Bilge's armour before he could use his harpoon to destroy the team. More soldiers were coming in from the other ships and were using numbers and ferocity to fight the trappers, while Victarion and Bilge did their dance of death.

"You could have been a fine warrior among our ranks, but you lead these savages instead. Now I shall show you the Iron Price!" He said as another blow was deflected by the armour and he launched a punch into Victarion' gut, sending him back. He grabbed one of the fallen guns and figuring out what to do with it, fired at the arm holding the harpoon. It staggered back, but the armour came off in that patch, leaving a thin outfit underneath, vulnerable to his attacks. All he needed was to get his axe and cut the man's upper arm off, his main fighting arm apparently too.

He grabbed his axe again and plunged it into the gut of another trapper mook as he prepared to go at Bilge, who was simply laughing maniacally, and grabbed out a weapon from the counter that was nearby. It looked like a strange hook, only when he held it, the hooks span around like wheels at staggering speeds, dazing his other men, while Victarion saw past the illusions. He swung at Victarion, tearing into his armour and scratching it more effectively than any sword.

Then the lunatic ran off- ' _even Euron seems sane compared to this man_ ', he thought. Vic and his men chased Bilge while his own men came in waves, while those falling off the edge were screaming at some unknown threat. Recruits came in from both sides to increase numbers till it was all out war. Ironborn vs Trapper was an intense battle for both sides.

On the other side of the boat, the fight continued as the Red Kraken ship arrived and more recruits came, winning through sheer numbers. Bilge no longer had troops backing him up and once again Victarion could fight him one on one.

He ran towards his laughing opponent as the men howled around them.

The spinning saw and the axe met with a clang as loud as thunder, and the men once again brawled in a way Victarion hadn't felt since the Rebellion 9 years earlier. He had lost against the damned Stannis Baratheon, but he would not lose this one.

The fight continued to grow in intensity as the men bellowed curses at each other, though Victarion's were definitely more coherent and a sign of sanity, whereas his opponent often mumbled nonsense between the blows of the weapons. The dance of swords continued for several more seconds before Victarion's next move was deflected, Bilge head-butted him with his great armour, and even with his helmet, staggered. Next he sent a punch of unnatural speed into his chest piece, denting it and making Vic fly backwards and hold his stomach. He must have broken several ribs from this impact alone, never mind all the others. Bilge picked up the axe, and looked at him malevolently.

"Your weapon is now mine, Greyjoy! It, along with my power armour and some shishkebab mods will make me unstoppable on the field. Your days as commander of this "Iron Fleet" are over! I shall take my men, destroy your cities and wipe them from the face of the Earth as the Fog commands! You can't stop us! I'll-" but Quellon came at him and stabbed him in the back with a dagger.

It couldn't penetrate the armour, but it did stab some kind of mark on the back of the armour. It started to glow hot, and soon Quellon realised. "Shit, milord, it's going to blow, it's already eating up his armour!" He shouted as he ran from the scene.

Bilge cried- "You fool, not my armour!" as he fumbled to get himself out of it as fast as possible. Victarion stood dumbfounded at the glowing of the armour as he tried to inch away, only getting up at the last few seconds.

Bilge had all but got out of the suit when it exploded, and while moving as fast as he could, the explosion destroyed his lower leg beneath the calf, burnt a large portion of his body and blasted his left hand. The force also sent him flying over the edge into the watery middle part of the ship which was simply oceans into the deck.

Victarion himself was knocked on his feet once again, and while the heat wasn't that great, he could feel a crackling feeling in his skin from more than that alone, something he had never felt before. His axe was teetering on the edge of the dock and he got up and reached for it, pulling it back from the edge. Before he took it away from the edge though, he saw a heavily burnt and injured Bilge down on the dock, screaming with pain at his many wounds, though soon this transitioned into laughing like a maniac.

"Hahahaha! The pain! The pain! It is great, I haven't felt it like this in years! Congratulations, Greyjoy on managing to wound me like Noone else would." He croaked as he got up to continue the fight. "But even you can't stop me. The Fog will consume all in its path, I shall be its champion, for I am-" a vicious pincered monster came from the depths, grabbing him by his remaining leg and stumpy arm, with glowing red eyes and mouthparts like a skull. He screamed as the crab like monster bit into his neck and crushed his limbs, before dragging him below the cruel depths. After some struggling and bubbles, all he saw was bloody water.

Victarion got up and saw that his men had all but killed or captured most of the trappers, with the rest running in fear. He saw Sargon Botley and his bastard Wes had found a cage with captives in, mainly women and children, with some reasonable fishermen in as well.

The surviving trappers would be offered to convert to the Drowned God or be beheaded with their heads left on spikes to remind anyone not to trifle with the Iron Fleet. The women might make good salt-wives for the men, he thought. After all, they were part of the plunder. The children, not legally able to work as thralls could be raised as Ironborn and start a new generation to rule this foreign land. One of the fishermen released cried-

"Have mercy on us, please, man. We were on our way to Far Harbor when these monsters took us and subjected is to their... desires. I hope you are better to us than them."

Victarion looked at his men and the captives.

"You have my word. You must now pledge yourselves to House Greyjoy of Pyke and follow the Drowned God for the rest of your days. Your wife's will be allowed to come with you. Any unmarried women above the age of two and ten shall become salt-wives for my men. Is this understood?"

They nodded, though clearly they were cravens. The life of a reaver was not made for them.

"Good. Where is this 'Far Harbor' you speak of? Is it some kind of town or city on the island?" The men turned to him and handed him a map.

He did not understand most of what was on it. The man pointed, a move that Victarion would have killed if it were in any other situation.

"We're here at the MS Azaela ruins. There at the far north east is Far Harbor town, one of the main civilised points there, a proper town with fishers, mirelurk hunters and bars. There is Acadia, the home of a synth colony- it's hard to trust them. And then there is the Nucleus, where those Children of Atom nuts live, in the remains of an old Submarine would you believe!" Victarion gestured and he cowered away again. He sighed.

"Many things we don't understand yet here, but I'm sure you'll teach as them as we head north. The Drowned God knows that were not the only ones interested here. Balon has probably sent others in case I rebel, Aeron probably wants to convert people, Tywin wants an outpost to use against us and Euron... Better not to think about him." He had started to mutter.

After an awkward silence of about a minute, he barked orders. "Alright men, take the ships north. We sail for Far Harbor. Botley, you'll keep this as an outpost for the future, Wolfe, you will journey with me to be settlement, and the brothers can take care of the captives and take them to Pyke to give my brother information." He set off. He saw Barton with the trapper, who appears to have survived the drowning ritual. He was ecstatic in tone. "I'm free! I've left the chains of savagery and found the Drowned God. I am free, freeee!" Victarion, while not smiling or laughing was proud of this day.

The journey to Far Harbour only took a couple of hours from the stop, but he could tell something was wrong already. There were already five Ironborn ships there, one of which was Blackwind. _Asha!_ He thought at the sight of it. The bitch had taken what was to be his expedition to the new lands! _Balon would surely reprimand her when he hears of this!_ His ship parked at the Harbor and he saw his niece Asha, black hair wet with sea water and blown by the wind, talking to a couple of strangers, one an old woman who it appeared welcomed her and her crew, while the other man looked angry and suspicious.

The man rolled his eyes at the sight of Victarion and his men. "More of these 'Ironborn' here to take our lands and screw our people over? I thought the mainlanders of old were a nuisance. You're just a bunch of medieval fools, don't even have guns or decent armour, I-" they were interrupted as another woman with glasses and a younger look came. They turned to her as if submitting. To submit to a woman was certainly a strange thing within Ironborn culture, and doubly so on the mainland, so seeing a leading woman here with no opposition plundered Victarion's mind.

"We're under attack! Looks like gulpers and anglers this time! Arm yourselves everyone! You guests can take part too, it would sure help us!" She ran off up onto the docks of the town, with guards at her side.

Asha turned to him- "well N'uncle, is this what you were hoping for, to see some good fighting and discovering new places? Looks like we don't have a choice here! Whoever takes the most heads buys the other a drink at one of the 'bars' here!"

He spat to the ground and turned to her- "I thought I'd done enough fighting for today, but duty calls." The two ran up the stairs to see the barricade that was being set up. It was certainly not the Wall, being made merely of wood and metal reinforcements.

It appeared there was this 'fog' the trappers talked about, and from the reports too was encircling much of the outer region. It was being held at bay by these glowing lights that seemed to suck it in and blow out air-magic perhaps? Euron would have loved this type of thing, but he was no true Ironborn. The other townspeople had guns and hook weapons, but he had other plans.

"Men, get down to the surface. Form a circular formation. We can encircle these savages and leave them crushed under our axes and swords! Go, now!" The leader of Far Harbor turned and shouted- "no, that's too dangerous, you need to get on the platform or else you could get killed!"

Victarion laughed, turned to her and said- "we'll show these savages the Iron Price and be on our way!" The Mariner as he later learned said- "these are no trappers, they're refugees! Let them through!"

The grizzled man hesitated. "No, if we let them through, then the beasts will follow and we'll all be doomed. We can't take a chance!"

The Mariner overtook him. "Do it now!" He reluctantly nodded and opened a gate for them to go through.

He turned to Asha, who was still on the dock and took out a crossbow to prepare. In the distance he saw the enemy. A group of... salamanders? Walking on two feet like men? The largest ones were over seven feet tall and could run at surprising speed. He called to his men- "charge!" And they did.

The men worked through the assemblage of slimy beasts. It was one thing to fight men in armour, but nothing in Victarion's reaving could have trained him for this! These must have been the gulpers that the Mariner talked about.

Vic's axe buried itself on the neck of one of the monsters, causing it to keel over and die quickly. The next one was much bigger and full of sharp teeth. It missed him and tore the flesh off the arm of one of his soldiers, before finishing him off by leaping on him and tearing. _May the Drowned God remember him in his halls of victory_ , he thought.

More of the monsters came and he and his men did whatever they could to cut through them while the islanders fired their guns and crossbows. One of his men was accidentally hit in the head, and the move distracted him as the biggest gulper of the lot came crashing towards him. It must have been eight feet tall and more than fifteen long.

It threw him to the ground and prepared to bite, before a bolt got it on the eye, causing it to scream. He turned around and saw Asha winking at him. He turned up and was squirted in blood as a harpoon found its way in the beasts hear as he flipped out of the way of its dead body. More came and he readied his axe before a hail of gunfire cut threw them.

"A break," the mariner stated. "But there's anglers and possibly even Ferals on their way here too, so watch out!" One man of Asha's crew, Lorren Longaxe looked up to see something, only for muck to land in his face by which he screamed as his face set on fire and burned, with hairs and strips of flesh falling off quickly as he collapsed. Rook cut his throat to put him out of his misery, and these new angling creatures made their way known. They weren't as large as the gulpers, but they had armour and a ranged attack, swinging ferociously. Behind them lay a small wave of savage degenerates, broken, thin and with wild hunger in their eyes. But first, the anglers had to be dealt with. With multiple more hacks and slashes, the anglers were a force to be reckoned with, their claws slashing through throats and dendting armour. Asha's crossbows, and the barrage of bullets and harpoons injured them and made it easier for Vic and his men to assault them, though even this was at significant losses, as he saw Ironborn corpses and injured going to the ground. Soon, the last of them were taken out before they could launch any more deadly acid attacks. The final wave was much smaller and were the freakish men with no clothes, overgrown skin and savage tendencies that even wildlings seemed civilised to in comparison. They carried fog with them and being around them made his men's skin feel strange and with a form of numbness to them. These were like a breeze compared to the previous creatures.

When the last of the monsters were killed, they got back to Far Harbor's gate. He had lost some eleven men, and Asha four, but it was certainly a victory for them. The refugees had made their way too. The mariner came down to see him.

"Congratulations on surviving your first day here, you seem like tough-" she hesitated. "Wait, my Geiger counters say you guys caught some nasty radiation. That's not good." Vic was confused.

"What do you speak of, out men are fine other than this tingling of our skin. What is this 'Ray Dee ay shone' you speak of?" Sorcery was not a thing Victarion had ever tried to dabble with at home, and he wouldn't dare to try here either.

She answered begrudgingly. "All things in the universe, people, plants, rocks, even the air you breath is made of atoms. Following the Great War of our world, these weapons used unstable atoms which broke down, giving off radiation. This damages our cells and mutates us, changing is on some level or anther. Sometimes, they're beneficial, changing us for the better, and other times very dangerous for the person or creature affected. Most times, it turns you into a ghoul, often like the Ferals you fought. Not all of them are like that, many retain their sanity, but that's what you'll look like if you're not careful."

The thought of looking so hideous didn't bode well with him or his men. "How do we cure ourselves should this happen?" He asked.

She replied. Visit doctor Teddy Wright in the town, he can heal you up of it. Or you can get some rad-away. Can you believe some people worship that stuff?" She said. Victarion pushed past her despite her protests and went into the town centre, looking to buy some king. But the shops only sold bottlecaps, and he sensed by their guns that taking the Iron Price wasn't an option, at least most directly.

Asha came up behind him. "You need some caps? I found some off the dead bodies for you to use, Nuncle. If you want more, you need to do contracts for them from what I hear." The two went into the nearby bar known as 'The Last Plank'. He went in and ordered to the bartender a simple drink of ale. The bartender said "we don't sell that here, I'm afraid. We do have Vodka, whiskey, absinthe, Beer and even our signature drink 'Vim!' if you're up for a try. It's not alcohol, but it'll give you a rush like no other drink our there." Vic was conservative and said "I'll have an ice cold beer please", while Asha said "I'll be adventurous and try this 'Vim!' you speak of." He took the drinks out, took their money and went back to business as they sat down.

Before they even started drinking, Asha was the first to ask. "So what was it that brought you here?" she said with a confidence that he envied deep down, though he would never dare allow himself to envy a woman openly.

"I was sent by your Lord father to investigate what was happening here and see if these stories of savages and monsters and fog are true. They all are. We've secured Azaela now under those damned Botleys, and now I'm here to secure diplomacy and prepare a-" he whispered "-battle strategy. To rule the peoples." He cut out of the whisper. "What about yourself?"

She replied. "I heard rumours of new lands, a new city on the North, the Targaryen palace Summerhall gone and replaced, with lots of monsters, metal men and even these 'synths' created brings designed to resemble and replace humans as spaces for some 'Institute' on the new land. There's allegedly a colony of exile synths living somewhere inland here, wishing to escape and be independent. These are mad times, and we need to adapt to them. Perhaps we can add this to Lord Balon's realm, but it will change us dramatically, Nuncle, trust me. The Old Way can't remain forever."

Victarion was too tired at this point to argue or ask too many questions, but he did see over his shoulder an older man, perhaps on his sixties with a bottle of beer looking at him, staring intently.

Victarion called over "what are you looking at? Would you like a fistful of steel, old man?" He said as he got up and approached.

The man smiled, as if he was hiding something. "You newcomers always were interesting, but I don't think I've seen anything like this before. Welcome. The names Old Longfellow, and I'd like to know if you can help me out around here."

Vic was hesitant, but Asha stepped in. "No problem from us, we're...exploring this new island-been sent to investigate and see whether any help's needed. What's the issue?"

The man replied. "So you're these new ones that have been sighted by fishermen! Well then. The fog generators up north are faulty and need some type of fixing to work properly again, I'm sure you could aid us. In exchange, I'll show you the synth colony of Arcadia you seem to be interested in." Vic and Asha exchanged a look of mutual interest.

"Consider it done." Victarion boasted. "Now where do we go?"

"Aren't you bold!" The old man said. "Very well, you may wanna prepare, because this journey is about to get even more messed up than you thought possible."


	4. Eddard I

The outlanders had made their use in the 11 days they had been present here, having helped with construction and told the Stark children various stories about the land from which they came which was now in Reed territory. Howland was still facing "monstrous threats in his land", so these were certainly dark times. But his new allies, and the dire wolves returning had brought hope to Winterfell as well. A hope for cooperation regardless of different worlds, and for developments to be made.

This 'Nathan' was exceptionally skilled both with these 'guns' and at building things from scratch. Within just this last week, he had managed to build new shacks to house small folk, his companions and even an improved kennel. He had also shown the bannermen of the castle how to construct these 'guns' that would prove vastly more efficient than any crossbow he had ever seen. So far, about 17 of these had been constructed, including a 'snyper' that could be used for long range assaults and defensive strategies.

Piper, the woman of the group had taught the writers the benefits of the typewriter and ballpoint pen, which would allow a free press to be published by anyone, allowing news to spread around much quicker and more accurately than before, and hopefully with less bias. Strong's and Hancock's forms puzzled Maester Luwin as something he had no experience of. When he first saw Hancock, he thought he was some kind of Other! Word had even got around that a message from the Dreadfort had been received, and that Lord Bolton wished to see these new "specimens" as he referred to them as in the letter.

The "robot" proved an excellent help and wonder for the children, and was useful for teaching the girls about manners while also cutting wood and timber for the new buildings and celebratory structures. Now their stood wooden carvings of a Dire Wolf, a Stag, a Lion and a Falcon, to honour the three great houses that would be involved as well as the late Jon Arryn, who was truly dear to him. Another lesser sculpture was of a woman with a scroll on her hand and a dire wolf by her side. something Nathan had personally seen to, only this one was made of metal. "Thank you for your kindness and willingness to help, Codsworth. I hope your pursuits go well for you." He said solemnly.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Eddard, or do you prefer Ned? Dad always was good for leadership and for helping people out, in both the old world and the new ones. It's a shame Mum isn't here to see him." His voice changed to a more grieving tone- incredible for something supposedly created by the hands of man without any reliance on Magic. He saw the others were hard at work. It wasn't long now. His children had gathered into position along with Cat, while Nathan, Preston and their bodyguards stood to the side. He turned to Codsworth and said-"where are Hancock and Strong? I doubt it would be in good taste to make them a public sight in front of the King and the children." Codsworth stated that the two were in their own buildings, out of sight for now. If he had more time, he would prepare some kind of exhibition for them. But he could hear that the Royal escort was now here. 

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, over three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Ned knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister. The only one unfamiliar was a man of dark skin and with some black glasses and wearing a leather armour, clearly looking uncomfortable as he moved.

Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned . . . until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have not changed at all, which is better can be said for most of the world nowadays!"

Would that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.

Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the IronIslands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord's surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

Yet Robert was Ned's king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides. The strange man came and tried robotically to shake hands with Ned.

"The name of this unit is X6-88, and I came to see King Robert to establish ties with the Institute. We promise to bring about great technological upgrade and reform to the people of Westeros and would prefer if you helped us take part in this." He said with a stoic voice that reminded him somewhat of Roose, but this was at normal voice and without the sinister tone that the Lord of the Dreadfort had. "I managed to save his Grace's knights from an attack by a pack of raiders and their hounds, even a deathclaw. This is how we became familiar and established ties. I only hope you can establish ties with us too." After this, Ned couldn't even state a word or question before this 'Ex Six Dash Eighty-Eight' went over to greet his children. He didn't feel secure about letting them near such a stoic person, assuming it was even a person at all and not one of these Institute controlled 'Synths' Nathan had warned him about. Around he saw the Lannister children and the Queen gathered around Codsworth, showing a strange curiosity about him.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had come up and said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."

Ned loved him for that, for remembering her still after all these years. He called for a lantern. No other words were needed. The queen had begun to protest. They had been riding since dawn, everyone was tired and cold, surely they should refresh themselves first. The dead would wait. She had said no more than that; Robert had looked at her, and her twin brother Jaime had taken her quietly by the arm, and she had said no more.

They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined. And the dangers we've seen. Some of which no man should see. "

"I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?"

Robert snorted. "A strange journey to say te very least. We found this new land Howland had written to me about, with those ruined buildings and savages. The monsters were incrediblr. Rotten wights with no masters, vicious clawed reptiles that could tear through metal armour with their claws, huge crabs and lobsters, packs of feral dogs, even giant manticore and flies! Gods, it was a strange place. The settlers were alright, but no brothels in sight and barely any inns. We managed to stay a bit in the Shamtock once we cleared this place. There was this metal man or 'robot' that served ales and such. Never been so drunk on my life that night! That bitch Cersei despised it all, but I liked having adventures again, the way we used to back in the day, remember? After we got out of the ruins into the country, there wasn't that much. Where are all your people?"

"Likely they were too shy to come out after the stories and legends," Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth. "Kings are a rare sight in the north."

Robert snorted. "More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!" The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended.

"Late summer snows are common enough," Ned said. "I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild."

"The Others take your mild snows," Robert swore. "What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think."

"The winters are hard," Ned admitted. "But the Starks will endure. We always have."

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, you've never tasted such sweetness. You'll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm's End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it's too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it's all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked." The king laughed happily.

Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.

"Your Grace," Ned said respectfully. He swept the lantern in a wide semicircle. Shadows moved and lurched. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long procession of granite pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the dark. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the sepulchres that contained their mortal remains. "She is down at the end, with Father and Brandon."

He led the way between the pillars and Robert followed wordlessly, shivering in the subterranean chill. It was always cold down here. Their footsteps rang off the stones and echoed in the vault overhead as they walked among the dead of House Stark. The Lords of Winterfell watched them pass. Their likenesses were carved into the stones that sealed the tombs. In long rows they sat, blind eyes staring out into eternal darkness, while great stone direwolves curled round their feet. The shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to stir as the living passed by.

By ancient custom an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Lord of Winterfell, to keep the vengeful spirits in their crypts. The oldest had long ago rusted away to nothing, leaving only a few red stains where the metal had rested on stone. Ned wondered if that meant those ghosts were free to roam the castle now. He hoped not. The first Lords of Winterfell had been men hard as the land they ruled. In the centuries before the Dragonlords came over the sea, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves the Kings in the North.

Ned stopped at last and lifted the oil lantern. The crypt continued on into darkness ahead of them, but beyond this point the tombs were empty and unsealed; black holes waiting for their dead, waiting for him and his children and theirs. Ned did not like to think on that. "Here," he told his king.

Robert nodded silently, knelt, and bowed his head.

There were three tombs, side by side. Lord Rickard Stark, Ned's father, had a long, stern face. The stonemason had known him well. He sat with quiet dignity, stone fingers holding tight to the sword across his lap, but in life all swords had failed him. In two smaller sepulchres on either side were his children.

Brandon had been twenty when he died, strangled by order of the Mad King Aerys Targaryen only a few short days before he was to wed Catelyn Tully of Riverrun. His father had been forced to watch him die. He was the true heir, the eldest, born to rule.

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

"She was more beautiful than that," the king said after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face, as if he could will her back to life. Finally he rose, made awkward by his weight. "Ah, damn it, Ned, did you have to bury her in a place like this?" His voice was hoarse with remembered grief. "She deserved more than darkness . . . "

"She was a Stark of Winterfell," Ned said quietly. "This is her place."

"She should be on a hill somewhere, under a fruit tree, with the sun and clouds above her and the rain to wash her clean."

"I was with her when she died," Ned reminded the king. "She wanted to come home, to rest beside Brandon and Father." He could hear her still at times. Promise me, she had cried, in a room that smelled of blood and roses. Promise me, Ned. The fever had taken her strength and her voice had been faint as a whisper, but when he gave her his word, the fear had gone out of his sister's eyes. Ned remembered the way she had smiled then, how tightly her fingers had clutched his as she gave up her hold on life, the rose petals spilling from her palm, dead and black. After that he remembered nothing. They had found him still holding her body, silent with grief. The little crannogman, Howland Reed, had taken her hand from his. Ned could recall none of it. "I bring her flowers when I can," he said. "Lyanna was . . . fond of flowers."

The king touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across the rough stone as gently as if it were living flesh. "I vowed to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her."

"You did," Ned reminded him.

"Only once," Robert said bitterly.

They had come together at the ford of the Trident while the battle crashed around them, Robert with his warhammer and his great antlered helm, the Targaryen prince armored all in black. On his breastplate was the three-headed dragon of his House, wrought all in rubies that flashed like fire in the sunlight. The waters of the Trident ran red around the hooves of their destriers as they circled and clashed, again and again, until at last a crushing blow from Robert's hammer stove in the dragon and the chest beneath it. When Ned had finally come on the scene, Rhaegar lay dead in the stream, while men of both armies scrabbled in the swirling waters for rubies knocked free of his armor.

"In my dreams, I kill him every night," Robert admitted. "A thousand deaths will still be less than he deserves."

There was nothing Ned could say to that. After a quiet, he said, "We should return, Your Grace. Your wife will be waiting."

"The Others take my wife," Robert muttered sourly, but he started back the way they had come, his footsteps falling heavily. "And if I hear 'Your Grace' once more, I'll have your head on a spike. We are more to each other than that."

"I had not forgotten," Ned replied quietly. When the king did not answer, he said, "Tell me about Jon."

Robert shook his head. "I have never seen a man sicken so quickly. We gave a tourney on my son's name day. If you had seen Jon then, you would have sworn he would live forever. A fortnight later he was dead. The sickness was like a fire in his gut. It burned right through him." He paused beside a pillar, before the tomb of a long-dead Stark. "I loved that old man."

"We both did." Ned paused a moment. "Catelyn fears for her sister. How does Lysa bear her grief?"

Robert's mouth gave a bitter twist. "Not well, in truth," he admitted. "I think losing Jon has driven the woman mad, Ned. She has taken the boy back to the Eyrie. Against my wishes. I had hoped to foster him with Tywin Lannister at Casterly Rock. Jon had no brothers, no other sons. Was I supposed to leave him to be raised by women?"

Ned would sooner entrust a child to a pit viper than to Lord Tywin, but he left his doubts unspoken. Some old wounds never truly heal, and bleed again at the slightest word. "The wife has lost the husband," he said carefully. "Perhaps the mother feared to lose the son. The boy is very young."

"Six, and sickly, and Lord of the Eyrie, gods have mercy," the king swore. "Lord Tywin had never taken a ward before. Lysa ought to have been honored. The Lannisters are a great and noble House. She refused to even hear of it. Then she left in the dead of night, without so much as a by-your-leave. Cersei was furious." He sighed deeply. "The boy is my namesake, did you know that? Robert Arryn. I am sworn to protect him. How can I do that if his mother steals him away?"

"I will take him as ward, if you wish," Ned said. "Lysa should consent to that. She and Catelyn were close as girls, and she would be welcome here as well."

"A generous offer, my friend," the king said, "but too late. Lord Tywin has already given his consent. Fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to him."

"I have more concern for my nephew's welfare than I do for Lannister pride," Ned declared.

"That is because you do not sleep with a Lannister." Robert laughed, the sound rattling among the tombs and bouncing from the vaulted ceiling. His smile was a flash of white teeth in the thicket of the huge black beard. "Ah, Ned," he said, "you are still too serious." He put a massive arm around Ned's shoulders. "I had planned to wait a few days to speak to you, but I see now there's no need for it. Come, walk with me."

They started back down between the pillars. Blind stone eyes seemed to follow them as they passed. The king kept his arm around Ned's shoulder. "You must have wondered why I finally came north to Winterfell, after so long."

Ned had his suspicions, but he did not give them voice. "For the joy of my company, surely," he said lightly. "And there is the Wall. You need to see it, Your Grace, to walk along its battlements and talk to those who man it. The Night's Watch is a shadow of what it once was. Benjen says—"

"No doubt I will hear what your brother says soon enough," Robert said. "The Wall has stood for what, eight thousand years? It can keep a few days more. I have more pressing concerns. These are difficult times. I need good men about me. Men like Jon Arryn. He served as Lord of the Eyrie, as Warden of the East, as the Hand of the King. He will not be easy to replace."

"His son . . . " Ned began.

"His son will succeed to the Eyrie and all its incomes," Robert said brusquely. "No more."

That took Ned by surprise. He stopped, startled, and turned to look at his king. The words came unbidden. "The Arryns have always been Wardens of the East. The title goes with the domain."

"Perhaps when he comes of age, the honor can be restored to him," Robert said. "I have this year to think of, and next. A six-year-old boy is no war leader, Ned."

"In peace, the title is only an honor. Let the boy keep it. For his father's sake if not his own. Surely you owe Jon that much for his service."

The king was not pleased. He took his arm from around Ned's shoulders. "Jon's service was the duty he owed his liege lord. I am not ungrateful, Ned. You of all men ought to know that. But the son is not the father. A mere boy cannot hold the east." Then his tone softened. "Enough of this. There is a more important office to discuss, and I would not argue with you." Robert grasped Ned by the elbow. "I have need of you, Ned."

"I am yours to command, Your Grace. Always." They were words he had to say, and so he said them, apprehensive about what might come next.

Robert scarcely seemed to hear him. "Those years we spent in the Eyrie . . . gods, those were good years. I want you at my side again, Ned. I want you down in King's Landing, not up here at the end of the world where you are no damned use to anybody." Robert looked off into the darkness, for a moment as melancholy as a Stark. "I swear to you, sitting a throne is a thousand times harder than winning one. Laws are a tedious business and counting coppers is worse. And the people . . . there is no end of them. I sit on that damnable iron chair and listen to them complain until my mind is numb and my ass is raw. They all want something, money or land or justice. The lies they tell . . . and my lords and ladies are no better. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools. It can drive a man to madness, Ned. Half of them don't dare tell me the truth, and the other half can't find it. There are nights I wish we had lost at the Trident. Ah, no, not truly, but . . .

"I understand," Ned said softly.

Robert looked at him. "I think you do. If so, you are the only one, my old friend." He smiled. "Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the King."

Ned dropped to one knee. The offer did not surprise him; what other reason could Robert have had for coming so far? The Hand of the King was the second-most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. He spoke with the king's voice, commanded the king's armies, drafted the king's laws. At times he even sat upon the Iron Throne to dispense king's justice, when the king was absent, or sick, or otherwise indisposed. Robert was offering him a responsibility as large as the realm itself.

It was the last thing in the world he wanted.

"Your Grace," he said. "I am not worthy of the honor."

Robert groaned with good-humored impatience. "If I wanted to honor you, I'd let you retire. I am planning to make you run the kingdom and fight the wars while I eat and drink and whore myself into an early grave." He slapped his gut and grinned. "You know the saying, about the king and his Hand?"

Ned knew the saying. "What the king dreams," he said, "the Hand builds."

"I bedded a fishmaid once who told me the lowborn have a choicer way to put it. The king eats, they say, and the Hand takes the shit." He threw back his head and roared his laughter. The echoes rang through the darkness, and all around them the dead of Winterfell seemed to watch with cold and disapproving eyes.

Finally the laughter dwindled and stopped. Ned was still on one knee, his eyes upraised. "Damn it, Ned," the king complained. "You might at least humor me with a smile."

"They say it grows so cold up here in winter that a man's laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death," Ned said evenly. "Perhaps that is why the Starks have so little humor."

"Come south with me, and I'll teach you how to laugh again," the king promised. "You helped me win this damnable throne, now help me hold it. We were meant to rule together. If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."

This offer did surprise him. "Sansa is only eleven."

Robert waved an impatient hand. "Old enough for betrothal. The marriage can wait a few years." The king smiled. "Now stand up and say yes, curse you."

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Your Grace," Ned answered. He hesitated. "These honors are all so unexpected. May I have some time to consider? I need to tell my wife . . . "

"Yes, yes, of course, tell Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." The king reached down, clasped Ned by the hand, and pulled him roughly to his feet. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I am not the most patient of men."

For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypt. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. He was faced with threats that even they had never faced before now. And winter was coming.

Suddenly, after just a few steps of walking, they both heard a scream of a girl and a boy, with gasps of shock among all. Ned rushed upstairs to see what the commotion was all about, while Robert wheezed behind him.

When he came out to the surface, he saw that Strong and Hancock had made their way out of their settlements and has found their way into the courtyard against his wishes. _What were they thinking,_ he thought as they approached the Royal escort. The screams came from princess Marcella and prince Tommen, who were both little children frightened of the monsters.

The crown prince cried- "gods, what are those things? Kill them, dog!" As his bodyguard Sandor Clegane took out his sword to go. Hancock, or John as he was revealed later, was merely ugly and in different attire, but Strong was in another category entirely. The 'supermutant' was allegedly big even by his kind's standards, and towered over everyone else there. He appeared bigger compared to the seven foot Hodor than Hodor did compared to Jon, who himself was a meagre five and eight. Strong cried out with fury and gathered his weapon from his pocket to fight, while another cry came from behind him. The Kingsguard drew their swords as well, with the queen holding onto Jaime's non-fighting arm as he drew his out and prepared to fight. Barristan Selmy, the Lord Commander along with Boros Blount, Mandon Moore, Meryn Trant and Arys Oakheart drew their weapons to respond to the threat. Ned thought there was going to be war.

"In the name of your King, stop this now!" The Kingsguard withdrew their swords, and after a few seconds, so did Hancock and Strong with their weapons. "What is the meaning of this?" The King bellowed. Strong and Hancock looked at each other. "He stepped on my toe and I freaked out, I fell out of our apartment and he came after for some reason. Then came the screaming and all that. Not my fault." He got a grunted reply- "Hancock get in Strong's way. Strong not mean to step on ghoul, but Stronf have no room! Your fault!" The two looked away from one another.

Eddard tried to to defuse the situation. "You've frightened the guests, the Roual guests! What you did was innappropriate and childish. You know what-" Robert pushed him aside. "I'll sort this out, Ned". He marvelled like he was a young child again at the size and power of Strong. "You look like hoe I did in my youth, with those massive arms and barrel chest! Not like I am now, of course. You must be at least a couple feet taller." It was true, the tall Robert didn't even reach to Strong's collar bone, or where his nipples would be if he had any. "Of course, I'm not green all over, or so big. What are you, and why are you here?"

"Strong a supermutant. Strong and supermutants hated humans, but then man told Stronf about the milk of human kindness, and how it made humans better than supermutant. Strong wish to find milk, drink milk and become stronger than human. Main man is friend to Stronf, not like filthy Hancock. Strong love to smash bad guy and help friends!" Almost everything the giant said was on the form of some shout. Robert laughed with a roar. "If only you'd been at the Trident, Strong. Those Targaryen scum would have shit themselves at the sight of you! What's that weapon you have? A Warhammer like mine?" He pointed at Strong's Super-Sledge. Nathan stepped up to explain.

"Your grace, if I may, the super sledge is an enhanced form of super-melee weapon of you will. It resembles the war hammers that your strong warriors use, but it also has a small rocket attached to it which activates when the user wants it to swing. This propels it to unnatural speeds which even the strongest beings such as Strong himself, wouldn't be able to reach unassisted. With modifications, I can also add heating pads which deal burns or even electric shocks to enemies." Robert raised an eyebrow. "You mean like a blacksmith's forge, or even lightning, only in the form of a hammer?"

"Potentially, yes, Your Grace." He said as he bowed and stepped aside. Strong took out another super sledge with a 'battery' attached showing the difference between the two modifications, with one of these deadly hammers in each hand.

"Incredible! If all our blacksmiths had your expertise, we'd have conquered the world by now! Isn't that right men?" He turned to his kingsguard. "Of course, your grace" Lord Commander Barristan replied.

Robert looked at Strong again. "If I had you in the Kingsguard, no one would dare challenge me to combat again. That's both assuring and boring at the same time! How long can your kind live? These 'super mutants'?"

"Strong and supermutants don't age or get sick like humans. Strong knows mutants over a century or even century and half old but still think and fight. The older mutant get, the bigger mutant get. Oldest ones twenty feet tall, though rare." The King shook his head and sighed, while his men looked nervously at the green giant, hoping it didn't try anything dangerous. Joffrey looked viciously at this thing that captivated his father so much. The queen was definitely not happy at the sight of the newcomers, only Codsworth seemed to make her at ease, and even that was relative.

The King turned to Eddard. "You've got no worries Ned. I'm loving these people already. I cannot wait to feast alongside such legends."

Ned felt an uneasy feeling about all that was going on, but tried to push it to the back of his mind. Winter may be coming, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the summer while it lasted.


	5. Macready I

The journey south had taken considerable time now. But he was used to it. He had gone from Camp Searchlight to the Commonwealth just fine, he was mature. But this journey was even longer, even with a horse of his own. Macready hoped to find some new competition in these lands, someone who could hire him as a warrior. He had heard the warriors of this 'Westeros' talking of such a position being with fair prestige of its own- the sellsword.

Macready was fairly decent with melee weapons, including swords, but it was guns that he truly excelled at. He could defend himself from all sorts of raiders and savages with these things, and so it would be his decision to change the face of he mercenary business, at least outside the Commonwealth. He could form a new business or company and be immensely rich as a result. _These primitives will reel over my guns, and it'll probably put those Gunner fuckers out of business,_ he thought as he set off to a new settlement in view.

On the way south from Sanctuary Hills, he went the familiar way of going through the ruins, evading his old masters the Gunners. He went for a stop in Goodneighbour, where the recently escaped Cait had gone to drown away her sorrows. He got a song from Magnolia and after offering his services, was sent to take out some Triggermen in the houses.

He heard advice from Whitechapel Charlie about new birds in the sky and sightings of traders with living horses around different points of the Commonwealth. After some drunken convincing, and a bar fight with one of his old comrades, he managed to convince Cait to join him on their adventure.

Together they fought their way through ghouls, raiders and the odd supermutant, all of which tried to kill them. The duo worked well as a team, though she refused his advances. Eventually, they ran in the way of a caravan, and exhausted from water, he had paid them to not only give him water, but to stay with him to make the journey south.

As they journeyed past Diamond City, he could have sworn he was being followed, but wherever he looked, no one suspicious came to mind. He remembered being jumped by some triggermen, and was midway through negotiations when Cait put a bullet in their brains. That's what he liked about her-determined not to let inconveniences get in the way of victory.

The caravan went around trading as they went south-east past the C.I.T Ruins. What could possibly be there in those old ruins? The worst he saw were some synths trying to take him on, but he had none of it. He almost shot at Nick Valentine. Yet another one of the Sole Survivor's pet-pals was here, only he was here to investigate the rumours of this new land.

They went even further south not far from the edges of Boston, where they saw in the distance a party of around three, maybe four hundred, including what appeared to be dozens of these horses. They went over to try and say hello, but it was risky. A group of raiders tried to attack them but the group managed to kick the everloving crap out of them and save the group. The leader addressed himself as 'King' and appeared medieval in his outlook and speech, which was weird. After some trading and exchanges, such as the gift of three horses for killing the raiders, they said their goodbyes and headed south more.

Going past the 'Glowing Sea' wasn't too hard, but the swamps, which were now larger than ever were harder to get through, with Mirelurk Kings, bloodbugs and even some alligator like creatures that appear to have come from south being around these parts.

After a few days of going through the greatly extended swamps, the caravan stopped at Greywater Watch, where they had met Howland Reed, the local lord there, who had established some contact with the Minutemen a few days prior and gone through the pleasantries and dialogue, along with some explaining. He got news that Nathan and the expedition were just two weeks from Winterfell now, and so Maccready showed Howland how to use a gun, in this case a sniper that would be useful for fending off mirelurks or these 'lizard-lions' that naturally roamed the Neck's swamps.

After four days stay, the team went on their way down south, for Robert had promised the caravaners new opportunities in the cities of the south. A few more days still passed as the party went out of the swamps into some open land for the first time in a while. At this point, they saw a war party of knights and archers, much bigger than the last, possibly more than three thousand men, going on their way north. Perhaps the King had sent them to investigate the Commonwealth directly in case they were some kind of threat. Cait wanted to go back up north for a fight, but he reminded her that business opportunities were down south. Sword, fist or gun, a paid fighter would be a good position now. He just had to get there before the Gunners did.

 _That was all behind them now._

He and the caravan he travelled with had managed to get some permission to pass through 'the Twins' thanks to him and Nick working out a deal with that old Frey asshole. Trying to get Cait to 'marry him' in exchange for one of his daughters was the final straw that made them leave. He was definitely a suspect guy and couldn't be trusted, but a deal of food in exchange for some Stimpaks felt like a bad deal. They'd lost one of the doctors too to those pricks, which wasn't good either even if Weathers wasn't the best guy to be around for a long time. But at least they had something. The Mirelurks were only just making their way into the Riverlands and so the pristine rivers were a nice change of view for Robert.

The peasants or smallfolk marvelled at the Brahmin that the team brought and wanted one of their own. The one headed Brahmin they called 'cows' were an interesting sight, jut they didn't have as much meat or milk on them he could see. "Two heads are better than one, guys" he had said. "Same with udders." Nick went around these peasants and tried to help them out with different activities hoping for cases, but they were usually trivial crap like finding a lot sheep or something equally mundane. Not many interesting mysteries popped up.

But it now he could see a settlement on the distance. A large one at that, with the banner of a trout on red and blue. He wondered what it could mean.

"This must be House Tully, according to the books I read on houses here." Nick was well versed in this type of thing and would be trustworthy on the matter.

"We might want to settle here for a bit and see the locals, and all that. Maybe they'll have something they need dealing with like some outlaws or something. I hope we don't just sit around and do stuff at this rate again." They saw something in the distance. Some peasants being harassed by some armed men with Tully banners. Macready saw many hardships in the wasteland, and hated them, and these supposed 'civilised folk' doing it made his blood boil.

He got his shotgun out and yelled "step away from the civilians! Now!" One of the peasants was a kid, like his own Duncan, who was in Goodneighbor now.

The men have a fierce smile and just said "we're just collecting our due. Nothing personal."

"Did the Tully's send you to do this?" Nick asked.

"No, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind a few smallfolk going missing, will they? Thing is, we're not really Tully banner men, we're former Brotherhood forces."

"What, Brotherhood of Steel? Wow, you guys have gone downhill lately!" one of the guards said. _Tony, was it?_

"No, the 'Brotherhood Without Banners'. They didn't like us taking what's ours by right, so we decided to go our own way. Ain't that right, Yoren?" He turned to his partner.

"Sure thing, cousin. Those men have some very interesting gear on them. And a two headed cow? You must be those Wastelanders we heard about. Our boss is one of these you know. Didn't let us have any of his 'guns' or armour, but he did give us these bombs and explosive collars to keep these buggars in line- he wants captives and recruits after all." He saw the men's face and hands had hideous burns on them. "He says we passed his initiation ritual and he gave us these flaming swords to test out. Not as long as our old ones, but they can guy you just as easy. And they're on fire, so we can burn you to the ground. Any last words, outlander?"

Macready glanced at Nick and smiled. "Bad idea carrying grenades in your hands like that." He lashed out his pistol and fired at the plasma grenade Yoren had in his hand.

 _BOOM!_

Yoren was atomised, and his unnamed cousin was sent flying, while on a green flame covering his body. "Aaaah, it's like wildfire! Aaaaah!" Before Nick got out his pistol and shot him in the head. He then went over to the smallfolk who had gotten out of the way by this point and defused their collars.

"Thank you, metal man!" They cried with gratitude.

"No problem! The names Nick Valentine, call me up if you and your people ever need help like that again. We'll be ready."

Cait saw what had happened, as she had gone away to take a shit or something like that. "What had those bastards done?" she asked.

"They were terrorizing civilians and pretending to be vigilantes, when really they were Westerosi recruits for some raiders or something. This sure ain't good." Nick was definitely a seasoned veteran for combat, both in his old life and in this new one, so he was worth being trusted. The best way to move south would be by following these rivers. Riverrun seemed a tempting place to visit from this distance, but it was more than fourty miles away according to the maps, and they needed somewhere closer to stay. Just a couple of miles to the east, and closer to the Westerosi capital of King's Landing, was a town with a little inn which would be of use to him.

Harrowway's Town seemed welcoming as the people just got on with their jobs, or marvelled at the sight of the Brahmin, with others paying attention to the weapons on their backs. Maccready saw some beggar girls playing nearby and gave them a snack he'd been saving for himself later that evening. They smiled and shared it evenly. People there were intrigued by the stranger, and after some guards were called to investigate.

"What are you and your… strange peoples doing here in Roote territory? Your weapons and your… cow are frightening the smallfolk!" one of the guards said. He had blonde hair and brown, almost black eyes, and a thin and not too imposing form. He must only have been five feet and five inches tall, which isn't that much even by wastelander standards. Nick spoke up.

"We're here from Boston to investigate these new lands and understand the life here. We wanted to go to King's Landing to see what was happening here and find some new oppurtunities to work out peace between our people." The guard seemed anxious at his sight. "I'm a synth, not a man before you say. I was created by the Institute as some kind of prototype for synths that look like people, but I escaped and took on the memories of a man long dead. I hope my kind can get equality to people like you. We're not all evil after all. We're just here to settle down for a night at your inn and see if you have any work available or cases that need solving."

The guards looked at each other with fright. "eerr… eerr… very well-, m-m-mister…?"

"Valentine. Nick Valentine of course. This is my partner Macready, who's a mercenary who wants to join in this 'sellsword' business and open up a gun-for-hire firm for any rich employers. That's Cait over there, a former fighter in a Raider arena, who also wants to do some fighting work, and the others are just some caravaners following us for money."

A guard laughed. "A woman, fighting? That's absurd. How many women in Westeros can fight? I doubt your wasteland is that different." His partner sniggered.

Cait came up to him with a knife. "How about I cut that pretty-boy throat of yours while your friend watches. Perhaps *then*, I can show you how a woman can fight! Boy, where I came from, you have to fight or else you'll have a bullet in your head or end up dinner for some of the local bestiary. Don't think I couldn't bash you savages like nothing!" Maccready, silent up to this point stepped in. _Oh boy, we don't want a war on our hands. That'd screw diplomacy up big time!_

"What our friend is trying to say is that where we come from, women have equal status to men in terms of business, government or fighting. It's a hard terrain there, as im sure you've heard from all these mirelurks around your lands. Am I right?"

"it is true that there have been those crab like monsters killing our sheep and the odd fishermen around. Very hard to put down. And then there's those newts that can knock a man down and deafen him without even lifting a finger. Those are the nasty ones. We apologise, Wastelanders, you may go into the bar anytime you like." They stepped aside.

Maccready was proud of himself for achieving that. If Duncan were here to see, he'd say something like "way to go, daddy!" without a hint of sarcasm, which was rare in the Wasteland except for people like Nathan. He saw the inn at the other side of the patio, pushing his way past some farmers taking a carriage full of hay to their destination. It already looked impressive, with three stories-something he hadn't seen since the Wasteland, and was armed with manned turrets with small catapults. _No artillery or even machine guns by any definition of the word, but defensible. Good in times of war_ , he supposed. He turned to the others and said- "well guys, looks like we're staying here for the night!" with a smile.

The inn was loud and buzzing with activity before they arrived in, but soon went silent as soon as they arrived. It must have been the clothes they were wearing as well as the fact they had guns instead of swords, but some of the smarter ones could tell they were weapons of some kind. The innkeeper, a middle aged woman with teenage children around her asked if they were looking for trouble. He replied- "not unless anyone wants to make any. But seriously, can we rent a night?" he realised that bottle caps were useless in Westeros except for a few local areas near the borders, which were starting to exchange currency now, for a small taxation. He gave her two stags and said "a night for me, the lady and the synth!" She was puzzled and let out her teeth, which were red and disgusting to look at for Macready. "A synth? What could that be?" he turned to Nick who waved and tried to smile awkwardly over his normal stoic appearance, as often people were unnerved by a synth doing such. It appeared she was too. "The name is Masha, and this is my business, please just leave us alone. I don't want trouble here. Here are the keys to your rooms. No funny business." Macready picked them up. "Thank you for being nicer to us than most folk out here." The caravaners cut off and left to find new places to trade.

They settled down for a few drinks-except for Nick of course, who merely recharged on some batteries he brought along, and talked about their old stories. Nick talked about how he and the Sole Survivor escaped Vault 114 and the legions of Triggermen there.

Cait talked about the time she killed a raider in the ring with his own fingernails, and Macready just talked about his childhood at Searchlight and how a man had gone through their land and saved the Capital Wasteland by a fascist plot for domination. Their stories continued on for a while and grew progressively more elaborate, partly due to the alcohol and partly due to an increased need to impress one another.

Eventually, a couple of shady looking men came into the bar. Once again, people were silent at the two. One of the men had black hair, a thin beard, and dark, lifeful eyes. He and his plain looking partner appeared ruthless, but at this point behaved reasonably. "heres some coins. We're here for the night." The plain looking one set the bag at the counter. Masha didn't look happy.

"Not you too again. Remember last time when that fight kicked off because of you and I had to call down Lord Roote just to stop you cutting that man's throat? I presumed not. Here's the keys to your rooms."

"Cheers, let's find a seat and get some ale, sure some maid'll find us some." This other guy was much more charming than the other, and even from this little dialogue he could tell this person was more liked.

He saw Macready looking at him, eyed up his gear by the edge of the seat, and said- "why don't we sit over there with these characters?" the other nodded and they sat and called for some ale to be bought around.

"So, what are your names, travellers. Mine's Bronn and this is Chiggen, my mate. I hope you don't mind us being open like this, its just we don't see many people here that aren't cunts, and I'm wondering if you're any different. That's some interesting gear you have there. Where'd you get it?"

Macready turned to the others for an answer, only to find nothing. "well, what are you gonna say?" this Bronn asked. He turned back. "We're not from around here, if you can tell by our voices and our clothes. We come from the new city of Boston, or its ruins just north of the Neck. Some unknown force, maybe magic took us here and we found ourselves in your land. I-"

"Magic, here? Magic died out thousands of years ago, if it ever existed." Bronn appeared very cynical even by wastelander standards.

Chiggen replied. "what about the Targaryens? They were magical I'd say. These folk don't seem to have it themselves. They look queer enough to be sorcerers, you think?" Bronn nodded.

"Nah, we ain't sorcerers, we're just on a different level of technology to you. Some of us are as far beyond you as you are beyond those tribals or 'wildlings' we've heard about. Where we came from, knights went obsolete when we could make these babies." He picked out his signature shotgun. "these make even your best crossbows look like slingshots, and they're all over the place there. We need them of course, given all the savages, monsters and different factions living in the Wasteland. We were once part of the United States of America, the greatest civilisation that ever was, until the Great War happened. We're what's left of that old world."

The serving wench finally came over. Bronn bluntly said "its about time." She said- "you're one of those wastelanders, right? I heard your conversation. So is this 'America' was like your version of Old Valyria? That's incredible… mi'lord, is it?"

"no, we're not lords, as much as Johny Bravo here would like to have you believe." Nick came out with. "just folk trying to survive in an unforgiving world."

She smiled shyly and walked over to the next guests, though not without a quick spank from Bronn. He was certainly no knight.

"So, what are you guys supposed to be?" he asked.

"We're sellswords, just staying here for a quick drink and a knights sleep. We want to see if there's any jobs that need doing. No matter how dirty, or violent, or boring, we can do that kind of thing. For the right price of course." Chiggen said with a voice that sounded like some cockney, almost like a parody of Whitechapel Charley.

Cait chipped into the conversation at this point. "so you guys want the same thing that we do? To be hired by some guys to kill what or who needs killing, protect who needs protecting and set yourselves up for business?" Nick seemed hesitant at this point.

"Indeed. Aren't you a pretty thing?" Bronn said as he patted her on the head. She reached out and grabbed his arm and held it down to the table. "And with fight in her! Not many Westerosi girls like that. What a shame!" He and his partner laughed at this.

He turned back to Macready. "It seems we both have common interests, and an interesting range of characters here. My streetwise skills and your weapons would make a truly lethal combination out there. We could be stinking rich. All the money, all the women, even lands could be ours. What do you say, friend?"

Macready thought for a few minutes. _What about Duncan_ , he thought. _What would he think of me being a paid assassin and lifting some primitives out of the dirt?_ Then again, he'd been doing this for years already, and the money had kept them both alive. He shrugged his shoulders and took out his hand. "deal." Looks like life in the south is going better than he thought.


	6. The White Wolf I

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The metal being known as Codsworth hovered by with a tray of beverages, some he knew and others unfamiliar to all except the Commonwealthers. "Care for a drink?" The robot said as he passed out a cold beer. Jon took it without asking and without a word gulped it all down in a matter of ten seconds, if that.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. Beneath them were the respective sculptures constructed by the outsiders, while a couple of these 'Minutemen' served outside and waited for anything to happen. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. Among them was the ghoul known as Hancock, who was much older than any of the others, but was just having a good time as he downed a glass of wine, while then pouring a silver bottle's contents into the next one, turning it a darker, almost brown colour. Jon asked him "what is that there?" Hancock smiled and chuckled. "It's liquor, son. Its for when wine or ale isn't strong enough for you. Want some?" Jon, already drunk on the wineskins and that ale Codsworth had given, couldn't resist a try. He took a sip and spat it out. Everyone on the bench looked at him, as did some on the main table. Hancock just laughed. "Don't worry, that's normal. You handled it better than I did my first time. Now that was a while ago. It started from when me and my brother…" Jon nodded off a bit and simply started tuning in to other people's conversations. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king's offspring. He had sated his curiosity about the visitors when they made their entrance. The procession had passed not a foot from the place he had been given on the bench, and Jon had gotten a good long look at them all.

His lord father had come first, escorting the queen. She was as beautiful as men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. His father helped her up the steps to the dais and led her to her seat, but the queen never so much as looked at him. Even at fourteen, Jon could see through her smile.

Next had come King Robert himself, with Lady Stark on his arm. The king was a great disappointment to Jon. His father had talked of him often: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Jon saw only a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jewelled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

He was more interested in the pair that came behind him: the queen's brothers, the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. The Lion and the Imp; there was no mistaking which was which. Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

Then he saw the other one, waddling along half-hidden by his brother's side. Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin's brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei and Jaime, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half his brother's height, struggling to keep pace on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute's squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Jon watched him with fascination.

Next in line was the hero of the wastes, the one they called the Sole Survivor, who to him and the other Winterfell residents, was known as Nathan. He came in a silk suit hand crafted by the hold's finest sewers, even Sansa herself, while modelled around one of these 'tuxedos' he claims to have worn before the 'Great War' of his world. His 'Pipboy' stuck out like a sore thumb on the outfit, but his hair was stylised to have a combed over approach which showed he was clearly here to be formal. He looked confident and happy at how things had turned out, and went down the table to sit next to Rodrick Cassel and his sons.

The last of the high lords to enter were his uncle, Benjen Stark of the Night's Watch, and his father's ward, young Theon Greyjoy. Benjen gave Jon a warm smile as he went by. Theon ignored him utterly, but there was nothing new in that. After all had been seated, toasts were made, thanks were given and returned, and then the feasting began.

Jon had started drinking then, and he had not stopped.

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. "Hungry again?" he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too.

His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken.

Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal.

Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

"Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much of?" a familiar voice asked close at hand.

Jon looked up happily as his uncle Ben put a hand on his head and ruffled his hair much as Jon had ruffled the wolf's. "Yes," he said. "His name is Ghost."

One of the squires interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for their lord's brother. Benjen Stark straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup out of Jon's hand. "Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet." He picked up one of the glass bottles. "And these must be the bottles the metal one is giving out freely. They're bitter, but nice on the tongue." He turned to Jon with a look of whit. "How many drinks have you had, Jon?"

Jon smiled, though he could feel his face light up red from all the alcohol making him woozy.

Ben Stark laughed. "As I feared. Ah, well. I believe I was younger than you the first time I got truly and sincerely drunk." He snagged a roasted onion, dripping brown with gravy, from a nearby trencher and bit into it. It crunched.

His uncle was sharp-featured and gaunt as a mountain crag, but there was always a hint of laughter in his blue-grey eyes. He dressed in black, as befitted a man of the Night's Watch. Tonight it was rich black velvet, with high leather boots and a wide belt with a silver buckle. A heavy silver chain was looped round his neck. Benjen watched Ghost with amusement as he ate his onion. "A very quiet wolf," he observed.

"He's not like the others," Jon said. "He never makes a sound. That's why I named him Ghost. That, and because he's white. The others are all dark, grey or black."

"There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them on our rangings." Benjen Stark gave Jon a long look. "Don't you usually eat at table with your brothers?"

"Most times," Jon answered in a flat voice. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them."

"I see." His uncle glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. "My brother does not seem very festive tonight."

Jon had noticed that too. A bastard had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes. His father was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Jon had seldom seen before. He said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Nathan walked behind him and whispered something in his ear, to which Father nodded and went back to his solemn look of norm. Two seats away, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture. "The queen is angry too," Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. "Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go."

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. "You don't miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall."

Jon swelled with pride. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle."

"Notable achievements."

"Take me with you when you go back to the Wall," Jon said in a sudden rush. "Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will."

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. "The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."

"I am almost a man grown," Jon protested. "I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children."

"That's true enough," Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon's cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

"Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeren Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes. He pushed himself to his feet, only to stumble. Hancock tried to help him to his feet, but Jon pushed him aside.

"I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry. He must have drunk more wine than he had realized. That and the damned liquor. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around him, and Jon felt hot tears on his cheeks. Someone tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night. He moved past the Minutemen stationed at the door, who asked him "are you ok, boy?", while Jon ignored them, with Ghost in tow.

The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, his cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant. Otherwise the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight.

The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were the last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had let them fall, and turned to go.

"Boy," a voice called out to him. Jon turned.

Tyrion Lannister was sitting on the ledge above the door to the Great Hall, looking for all the world like a gargoyle. The dwarf grinned down at him. "Is that animal a wolf?"

"A direwolf," Jon said. "His name is Ghost." He stared up at the little man, his disappointment suddenly forgotten. "What are you doing up there? Why aren't you at the feast?"

"Too hot, too noisy, and I'd drunk too much wine," the dwarf told him. "I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother. Might I have a closer look at your wolf?"

Jon hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Can you climb down, or shall I bring a ladder?"

"Oh, bleed that," the little man said. He pushed himself off the ledge into empty air. Jon gasped, then watched with awe as Tyrion Lannister spun around in a tight ball, landed lightly on his hands, then vaulted backward onto his legs.

Ghost backed away from him uncertainly.

The dwarf dusted himself off and laughed. "I believe I've frightened your wolf. My apologies."

"He's not scared," Jon said. He knelt and called out. "Ghost, come here. Come on. That's it."

The wolf pup padded closer and nuzzled at Jon's face, but he kept a wary eye on Tyrion Lannister, and when the dwarf reached out to pet him, he drew back and bared his fangs in a silent snarl. "Shy, isn't he?" Lannister observed.

"Sit, Ghost," Jon commanded. "That's it. Keep still." He looked up at the dwarf. "You can touch him now. He won't move until I tell him to. I've been training him."

"I see," Lannister said. He ruffled the snow-white fur between Ghost's ears and said, "Nice wolf."

"If I wasn't here, he'd tear out your throat," Jon said. It wasn't actually true yet, but it would be.

"In that case, you had best stay close," the dwarf said. He cocked his oversized head to one side and looked Jon over with his mismatched eyes. "I am Tyrion Lannister."

"I know," Jon said. He rose. Standing, he was taller than the dwarf. It made him feel strange.

"You're Ned Stark's bastard, aren't you?"

Jon felt a coldness pass right through him. He pressed his lips together and said nothing.

"Did I offend you?" Lannister said. "Sorry. Dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head." He grinned. "You are the bastard, though."

"Lord Eddard Stark is my father," Jon admitted stiffly.

Lannister studied his face. "Yes," he said. "I can see it. You have more of the north in you than your brothers."

"Half brothers," Jon corrected. He was pleased by the dwarf's comment, but he tried not to let it show.

"Let me give you some counsel, bastard," Lannister said. "Never forget what you are, for surely the world will not. Look at your friend the ghoul. His skin complexion makes mine seem beautiful, and yet he has no problem with it, and in fact flaunts it. What I mean is, make it your strength. Then it can never be your weakness. Armor yourself in it, and it will never be used to hurt you."

Jon was in no mood for anyone's counsel. "What do you know about being a bastard?"

"All dwarfs are bastards in their father's eyes."

"You are your mother's trueborn son of Lannister."

"Am I?" the dwarf replied, sardonic. "Do tell my lord father. My mother died birthing me, and he's never been sure."

"I don't even know who my mother was," Jon said.

"Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are." He favored Jon with a rueful grin. "Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs." And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.


	7. The Maester of the Wasteland I

The horse stopped near the edge of the borders of the river. The help he recorded from the Reeds was of great us on getting here, past the hideous ruins and many monsters of the swamp. And the damned crater! Gods knew that was dangerous. Yandel and his group were not afraid though. They were here to discover, find new technologies and bestiaries, develop a new land that had joined them and integrate it, and bring peace and prosperity to the realm. _Or at least that's what we've been told._ In truth, they were all anxious about being in a land completely different to their own, with this so called 'radiation' around which could turn people dead, or into the disgusting being that Luwin had messaged them about. They had seen a savage, animalistic version earlier in the morning, and put it down with their bodyguard's sword. Yandel would have looked to write a new book that would top even 'The World of Ice and Fire' by documenting what was happening in this new land.

His fellow maesters included Coleman, former Maester of Jon Arryn looking for new purpose in life, Cressen from Dragonstone, who had been sent on orders of its Lord Stannis Baratheon, Tybald- a scared nervous Old man from the Dreadfort and even Theomore of Lannisport. It appeared the opportunities of a new land and the beings within it had drawn maesters of many professions together on this journey. Of course, such people were not fighters, and so some guards had been sent to supervise them from the Citadel, along with a small division of gold cloaks to make sure they kept on line from the crown. Already a royal expeditionary force was sent northwards to see if this area had any threats to the kingdom, but this one would be in the name of knowledge and discovery. A group of settlers outside a building could be seen by the maesters at this point. The building was made entirely out of metal and must have stood over 100 feet tall. It was thin in frame and had dishes in it. Yandel went to ask the settlers what it was.

"That old thing? It's supposed to have been a satellite relay before the war. They broadcast signals from different radios and frequencies around the region. With the right equipment, you can even do your own one. Why do you ask"

Cressen stepped in- "we've been sent by orders from the Citadel to investigate this new land. You have have seen two large parties going through your land, with us-"

The other local interrupted, this woman clearly less educated. "Ah saw sum ya friends in carriage three weeks back going through ah land. Next thing you know, a freakinf huge one has gone around, killin ghouls, mirelurks, raiders, that kind of shit ya know? We hope you don't kill us, eh?" Now Coleman responded. "Can any of you explain what these signals and broadcasting are? We're awfully confused." The settler man pointed to his decide he was carrying.

"This is a radio, which we use to pick up signals." He turned it on with a button and blurred out noise and voices came out. The pitch was hard to hear, and many of the maesters put their hands on their ears in response. "You can tune it to particular frequencies by twisting the notch." The voice became clearer in noise now. It sounded like an insecure young man trying hard to entertain his listeners. He then twisted it again to reveal something else. "Diamond City radio kind f sucks right now with that Travis running the show. How about some classical?" This music was relaxing and clearly using some kinds of string instruments, if he could see any.

"This must be some sort of sorcery!" Cried out Tybald. "How can a box produce the voices of men and instrument otherwise, and change it at will. This is dark arts, brothers!" _Gods this is embarrassing_ , Yandel thought as the wretch drivelled on.

The settler laughed at this accusation. "No magic here. This is technology built my man for entertainment, and now communication that's instant. Better than some scrolls and that bird you primitives are using?" He smiled again. The man seemed arrogant to say the very least, but his knowledge was useful. "This used lots of tiny copper wires surrounded by plastic and steel with a bolt going through. Managing the currents and getting them right can be tricky at first, but as a former scavenger, I know my stuff fortunately. Sorry, I never told you my name, it's Mitchell. And this is my sister, Gloria. What are your names?"

"We are Maesters sent from the Citadel of Oldtown. I am Yandel, he is Coleman-" he pointed. "He is Tybald, he is Theomore, and he is Cressen. And the guard's name is Jonathor. We came to see and explore new elements of your world. It is clear that your technology is vastly beyond anything we have in our world, so we are interested to see. You said that your people can master electricity in devices? Is that like lightning in a reduced form?"

Mitchell scratched his head. "Well, pa..." he said with some level of snobbery, something he clearly didn't have much experience with given his youthful appearance of only twenty and eight or so, "the use of wires like this allowed us to channel its power and use it in all sorts of things. These radios, street lights, vehicles, these broadcasting towers, phones, even ships and cars, you name it! Even after the apocalypse, electronic technology takes up a huge aspect of our lives. And if this spreads, it'll take up your lives and that of your descendents. Here's a walky talky. It's like a radio but allows you to talk to each other directly over great distances. You still need to maintain a frequency, or else you can end up contacting people you really don't want to contact. Hope this helps." He handed some strange tubes with small holes to the maesters. "Remember, they run on batteries, so you may need to go and buy some if you ever need more. Also, turn on that relay using the terminal there. It'll enhance your signals and grant you new ones too. A safe bet at this point." Yandel smiled at the man, saying "thank you for your kindness. Farewell to you and your sister on your journey." The two departed, and the party headed for the relay. It was on the top of a hill and was useful. It said "Radio tower 3SM-U81" on a sign just outside it. The coast seemed clear to go until some horrible things came up from some cattle corpses.

They were like mosquitoes that existed far south in Dorne and the southern Stormlands and Reach, but they were much bigger-the size of a small eagle in fact! There must have been three of them as they prepared to swarm around. Jonathor swung his sword at one and cut it in half, while another attempted to bite into his armour, and seemed to fail. However, he soon let out a yelp of pain as the bug's abdomen began to swell with blood, and Jonathor became increasingly pale and unable to swing his sword. It's draining the life out of him, Yandel thought. He grabbed a dagger and stabbed it in the bug's head, causing it to let go and start to fly around erratically, before collapsing on the ground. He stomped on its head just to make sure it was gone. He turned to his comrades and saw that Tybald had been downed by two of the bugs, with his life essence already fading fast. The goldcloaks in their thick armour were protected from the bug's attacks, but at the same time were too slow to hit them accurately. Picking up the wheezing Jonathor's sword, Yandel charged at the beast closest to him and stabbed it in the chest, causing it to try and escape. It soon collapsed and died though. The final beast was dragged by the other maesters by the legs, until it frantically pulled its own legs off trying to retreat, having only two of its original four now. It was nevertheless too quick for them to reach. They turned back to Tybald.

"I'm not sure I can make it, I'm afraid. Too much blood lost. I thought leeches were bad, but that made leaches seem like a breeze against a mighty storm...deteriorating,...I'm not sure what to feel." He breathed in and out as intensely as he could. _Why couldn't one of these 'doctors' be nearby?_

"You can do this, you've still got years to live, things to discover, and a mission to do." Cressen tried to assure him. "You're not as useless as you think, you've helped us document so much." It was true, Tybald had always been the one noting down the sights that had been seen travelling through the swamps. The various species of mirelurks, the giant 'bloatflies', the scavengers and local communities, even providing a few pictures of some 'robots' that had been seen, particularly the Protectrons and Mr. Handy's that were used by caravans he saw by the riversides as they entered the drier land. The notes would be preserved for years to come, and go towards their 'Wastelander's Guide' they were all planning to participate in.

Tybald looked directly at Yandel now. "Go, the Gods call me to their heavens, and they've put us here for a reason. Continue where I... started, for we could... do... unimaginable good with all this... information. No...more poverty...no more magic... no more lack of...communication, and no more games of thrones. Just... let them remember who I was." He smiled with as much effort as he could. "Promise me, Yandel!" he exclaimed before he started choking for the good of about twenty seconds, before he finally let go of life. Yandel had a tear in his eye. He wasn't as old as the rest of them, and yet here he was, dead before them. He sighed.

Coleman found the courage to speak. "He had a point. We've been sent here by the Citadel themselves to find out new information about the monsters terrorizing our people and the lunatics with weapons that shoot fire. We've found more out then we could ever have hoped. Let's not use this as a chance to give up. It's not what he would want. We're here to document this land and find new things, and that's exactly what we'll do. Is that clear?" The others nodded in unison, though Yandel could see that Jonathor was more hesitant, although this could just be him trying to regain himself after the torture of those giant mosquitoes. He could see a bed there, with materials for more beds in their packhorse. Two terminals were present, one for the tower itself clearly and the other for some strange tube, looking like a cubbard. They went over to the terminal with their walky talky and checked the frequency which was fortunately stated at the bottom of the screen and copied down. He saw two options on the screen. One to activate the signal and the other to investigate a journal. Out of curiosity, Yandel navigated using the directional buttons to select the journal option. He saw buttons that showed each of hte letters and punctuation he knew, as well as many other symbols he did not understand. He looked through the journals to see information, but it appears to have been written by people all long dead. The calender in this world claims the year is 2281 rather than from 298 as they had known.

"Perhaps this world was from the future?" he asked Coleman.

"Doubtful, these lands and their layout are alien to us. This is another world with its own time and history. Can you find a way to activate the signals?"

Yandel got to it. He went back and activated the signal. The tower moved on its own, as if it were some giant waking itself up. Suddenly, several signals were now available, and the ones that were already so were now much stronger than before. One of the messages sounded like an emergency. "Perhaps we should go over and help these people?" he asked the others. They were hesitant, but ultimately agreed. The messages repeated themselves, which were unusual, but perhaps it was due to their technology being greatly improved. They also saw next to it a terminal claiming that a 'protectron' was in the coffin-like structure waiting for activation. They tried getting on but only found a mess of random numbers and letters in its place. Jonathor tried to smash the case open with a small axe he had, but all it did was dent the thick glass.

"Very well," Coleman said. "We should go to wherever this signal is taking us." He gave one of the 'walkie talkies' to Cressen and told him to inform them if anything happened while he stayed at the station.

As the group journeyed east they found an empty settlement where the signal lead. The sign said 'Jamaica Plain' which was unusual, as they knew of no such place before. The area looked like a fight had broken out, as there were dead bodies everywhere. Perhaps the mysterious 'Sole Survivor' had visited here in the past? Yandel could see the bodies were a mixture of human and ghoul, with the body of a strange robot too. Inside it's headpiece appeared to be...

"A human brain? What sort of monsters would do this to a fellow human being? Even the most savage men I've had not resorted to this. Removing a man's brain and forcing him to be a slave once again? Barbaric!" The others expressed similar disbelief. One goldcloak exclaimed"There's another one here, only the brain is missing. Someone must have took it!" Another said- "perhaps we should go inside and investigate?" They prepared to go inside until one of them caught something strange at the corner of their eye. Theomore gestured to make sure the others stayed behind the edge, except for some goldcloaks and Jonathor he called to his side. What he saw was stranger than ever before.

When they came around, they saw what looked like one of the savage raiders they had long avoided and been taught to fear. These were like technologically upgraded wildlings, except they were addicted to all sorts of terrible substances that would enhance the physical state but destroy the mental state of that using them, according to their interview with a travelling doctor known as Weathers earlier in their journey. But this one, while a tall man of six feet and four inches and with a deadly dagger in his hand-easily capable of killing all the maesters, and apparently a threat to the guards too, was still and silent. He smiled. "Welcome, are you lost here?" he asked with a look of pure malevolence. These could have been Brave Companions or men of Gregor Clegane by the look on their faces, but they had more stripped down gear, and guns in their holster. There were about five of them. Yet not one of them moved to fight. Behind them lay a vat full of disembodied brains seemingly collected by these raiders for some malevolent purpose, while next to it was a cage full of feral ghouls, who were incapable of getting out at this point. The maesters including Yandel were speechless. "Our new friend would be interested in seeing you. We thought we could wipe him out, but he's pretty convincing really." Behind the leader of the gang stepped a familiar face.

"Isn't it nice to see fellow Westerosi here in this wretched place? The new company can be so bothersome sometimes, but these men are more welcoming than most to my field of work."

"Qyburn? What are you doing here?" Yandel exclaimed. He had not seen the man in years, since before he was expelled for his hideous works that should not be spoken, or even thought of, lest it drive men into madness. It looks like it was too late for the raiders, as savage as they were.

"I went with Beric Dondarrion's expedition into the Wasteland. Tywin Lannister used Casterly Rock's gold reserves to hire my new allies, the Brave Companions to come here and fight for the expedition to pacify the region. But whereas they saw a threat. I saw opportunity. No Westerosi laws are here, it is true. People would tear each other apart for scraps of food, or to defend themselves from vicious beasts. Radiation can turn men like you and me into... these things." He pointed to the cage full of ghouls. "I wish to study these kinds of processes-what can make ordinary men no better than wildlings, and what has created the monstrous bestiary that live here. Technology is important and all that, but the states of being interest me far more. We have so much to learn from them, but they have so much to learn from us."

The female raider to his right spoke, one who had a huge scar on her face, along with black marks on the left side of her neck. "He's shown us states of being that we can't get from no highs or killings, we don't just kill at random or to pillage. He's shown us a real way of life." They were clearly in some euphoric state. Yandel quickly realised they all had black markings around their neck, and many of them appeared to have scars for injuries that should have been fatal, but somehow werent.

Qyburn spoke once more. "Would you care to join us, my former brothers? There's plenty of room in our arrangement for more." His smile sent shivers down their spine.

Before they knew it, they were running as fast as they could. Even the Goldcloaks and Jonathor couldn't keep up with them as these silver-armored raiders he had followed him with great precision. These were far more organised and coordinated than any natural ones, without the whole drug infested nonsense that they normally had. They were also unnaturally fast and deadly. The former leader took out a shotgun and blasted a goldcloak down with no effort while still running. Theomore split from the others down an ally, and was thus followed by a remaining raider. Coleman got out the talking device and called. "Cressen, you fool, are you there? We're being chased by savages that Qyburn has seduced. You hear me? The freak is thriving in this new world!" though he didn't get a reply back.

They found themselves cornered by the tech raiders, who stood in uniform formation with perfect, unnatural synchronization that was not seen in nature. Soon at their sides, some dogs that appeared to have human brains latched on via the technology of these technically fluent raiders appeared next to them. One was parroting "kill. kill. kill" as it stalked towards them. The raider leader said "you could have joined us in the great game, used all your skills to bring us together in the Fuzz. But you couldn't swallow ya pride, could ya? Now prepare to-" the head exploded. Within a split second, all of the raiders and the talking dogs were downed by a hale of incredibly fast fire, with the holes literally burning through them and setting them on fire. They all lay dead now. They looked above them and saw a woman with a huge looking gun far larger than the others, along with some guards. She said "come with me if you want to live." They did.

Following some running over a distance, they climbed the stairs of an abandoned building, passed some giant beetles or roaches, and found themselves on the roof with this woman and her guards.

"You guys looked like you were in a tight squeeze here. Name's Fahrenheit, and I'm in charge of the town of Goodneighbour now my boss Hancock left to go North with Nathan. You know anything of them?"

The maesters shook their head, though Yandel said that he had heard the name Nathan in passing from a man named Macready down near the Twins.

"Nice to know. Since you guys are new around here, and not warlike savages like many of these 'Westerosi' are, we'd like you to settle in our town for the time being. You won't regret it!" Around this time, just two goldcloaks returned, with Jonathor being carried by them. "He's been hit, he needs help soon."

Fahrenheit got out a strangely large syringe and stuck it into Jonathor's injured area. incredibly, the injuries healed rapidly, in just a few seconds. The gunshot wounds, the knife wounds and even his previous lack of blood seemed to disappear.

"A miracle." one of the men cried as they all marvelled at this rapid healing.

Fahrenheit than turned to them. "Well, it looks like you guys will be staying after all. You clearly need us to live around here." She smiled and started to lead them on the way.

 _Hopefully, we will find out much new information here_ , Yandel thought. Maesters had no lands of their own and no wife or children, but in such an alien place, they might as well be kings.


	8. The Lesser Lion I

The expedition was going interestingly so far over the last several weeks. The journey north had been long, but the journey into this 'Commonwealth' was perilous at every turn. Kevan had seen many things he had never thought he would during these days. He had fought in and witnessed multiple campaigns, from the War of the Ninepenny Kings to Balon Greyjoy's rebellion. None were anything like this though.

The first part of the wasteland they saw was the southern swampy regions of the east, which were full of enormous mosquitos and strange things like flying manticores, that the locals referred to as 'Stingwings', which would take more crossbow rounds to kill than an aurochs due to their armour. Traders had two-headed cows and yet were flabbergasted at the sight of horses. Those lone troops sent deep into the swamps almost never came back, and those that did spoke of monstrous creatures in the water. They attempted to go north west to avoid these locations, going through ruins and avoiding hails of metal fired by locals around one of the bunkers.

They had been around the edges the nightmarish place known as the 'Glowing Sea' by locals. The winds there were more fierce than Storm's End, and burned to the touch. The creatures there were ferocious and terrifying too, but the nastiest thing there was a deadly killer that could strike without warning or sight, perhaps worse than Greyscale. He had lost over three dozen men and multiple horses to this killer, with several survivors having their skin and hair permanently scarred, transformed into hideous beings. A hairless horse was present among those afflicted too. They no longer suffered from the killer, but in fact energised by it. And some in this state lost their minds and became as beasts, having to be put down like limp horses. _What horrible things!_ , he thought. All this had only come from the outskirts; only a few even attempted to go further, and none returned.

One of these men was supposedly Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven, with some reports claiming he had died from this invisible poison, while others claiming he had changed into one of these degenerates, with assistance from that drunken Red priest. _They can't both be right,_ he was easily one of the most dangerous campaigns that he had ever fought in, and they hadn't even got into a war situation yet!

The environment was full of monstrous creatures and the invisible killer, with a number of hostile people here and there as well, basic savages who fought with fire tubes and madness. Those friendly enough to be negotiated with, themselves mere travellers, paid with strange currencies which made trading difficult outside set up zones that they encountered later. These 'bottlecaps' had no parallel in Westeros and could be acquired from using the bottles of some of the local drinks. Kevan's time among these people was informative, but he understood so little of what was happening.

The journey east towards the coast of the Vale resulted in a less harsh environment, but no less harsh monsters. And the people's were a definite mix. Some were simple settlers out to trade, like smallfolk, but far more able to defend themselves, with these weapons that fired shrapnel at great speeds beyond anything natural, certainly necessary for such a harsh land. These were much more powerful than any crossbows in Westeros, and with better range too. He had sent the Mountain that Rides to convince the locals, even in his own depraved way to have some access to these weapons and directions about important places. It took time to acquire these, and not without losses from the savages. Even so, only a few in the expedition would be allowed these 'guns', himself included. He could see the mountain of a man with some locals in a cage, with his men teasing them in their captivity. Another had some of the degenerates, though most at least looked human from a distance.

He didn't want to think how many of the locals had been harassed by Clegane's and Hoat's bands of savages, let alone on top of the native raiders.

Raiders, despite their relatively poor armour had deadly weapons and fierce determination, even if in an animalistic form. They organised in gangs around local ruined buildings, though they would often compete with one another over resources and territory, particularly these 'Chems' that would change the minds of the users. Kevan had done what he could to prevent such use among his soldiers, but some was certainly seeping into the more experimental members of the force. Tywin may have wanted to use such performance enhancers to enable better soldiers and workers, but he was not Tywin, and he hesitated to provide any samples back to Casterly Rock for the Maesters to analyse. The deserter had been proof of that.

Three days past, a man had been found addicted to this form of 'psycho' having become viciously hostile to anyone who approached. One day, he lashed out and attacked his peers, killing four with a dagger, moving at great speed, though with no discipline. From this point, he escaped from the camp and was not heard from again as of now. Perhaps he had joined those raiders. Someone should bring him to justice! He had sent a group of ten after the man, but no word came back. The raiders had won this time.

Another race besides the degenerates and raiders were bands of green savages of great strength and power, with great hounds too. They owned deadly weapons and were weapons themselves, as their strength and power were superhuman by all means. Even a normal one was similar in height to Gregor Clegane, and even bulkier too, with thick leathery skin and animalistic rage; their strength would be life threatening. They had lost dozens of men at the peripheries to such abominations, attacking relentlessly and in rare occasions, even eating men alive!

Fortunately, they were dumb brutes and could be lead off by simple bait or by help from locals wearing strange hats, who were apparently used to such beasts. Together with numbers and well aimed attacks, they had managed to repel several of the attacks by the green men, though only one had been successfully killed by the expedition's arrows. The others fell from the local 'Minutemen' whose job was to protect the common people. Such people could not be tolerated in Westeros proper, Tywin had told him, or else there would be chaos. Nevertheleds, Kevan was proud of his expedition that they had managed to defend from monsters.

Gregor and his men had distracted the beast while Kevans archers fired arrows on its back and joints, allowing the Mountain that Rides to land the fatal blows necessary on this unarmoured fool. It only had a wooden board to defend itself which was not useful, along with some strange balls that could explode at will, causing many battlefield injuries. The scouts had done their best, but many did not make it. The higher ranking green men had got away however, and would certainly plot revenge like the Mountain clans of the Vale. The others though had dropped some of these weapons and armour, which his scouts were mining through and discovering the properties of. Kevan himself had stayed behind for this attack, and rightfully so, to show that he cared for his soldiers on at least a numeric level.

In terms of non humanoid creatures, giant insects and manticores had been terrifying threats, along with hairless bears, two headed deer, three eyed vultures, enormous shellfish that could absorb sword blows to their hides, dog sized hairless rats, hairless feral dogs, the occasional horror of nature, and demons.

Gods, the demons were horrifying. Nine foot tall reptilian creatures with horns like a ram and claws that could cut through even the toughest armour. Even Gregor and his men steered clear of the demons, though some of Hoat's men foolishly tried to toy with them. He had heard via Raven of reports of the crab monsters, deer and insects spreading into the Riverlands, the Bite and the Bay of Crabs, along with the invisible killer. It seems they were spreading across the Realm and that they were here to stay. The realm was sure to suffer.

The new crops were of strange tastes as well, these tomatoes and corn were interesting, as were the berries that Gregor and his men extracted from The Slog. The crops grew well in certain areas, though it seemed they were used to far shorter seasons than those in Westeros. This may hinder efforts to grow them elsewhere in the long term. But there were more important matters to attend to now. For now they had reached the centre of the city.

"My lord," his squire came up. "We've caught sight of the great towers of 'Boston', milord. Would you wish us to go there and secure them? They appear bigger than even the Tower of the Hand, and more abundant than any castle." It was true, as even from this distance, the towers of brown, red, white and silver were taller than anything he had ever seen. Perhaps even taller than the Wall for a few of them. Scouts ahead had not returned back either, so this too must have been a dangerous place.

Kevan hesitated and gave an answer. "We camp near the edges and we will settle for the knight before any action is taken. After all, it's necessary to-" he could hear a buzzing noise quite loudly now, but it seemed far away. It was getting louder and the men were confused. Then they saw them.

Huge winged creatures, of a silver complexion that appeared to resemble some colossal dragonfly of sorts, were hovering towards the edge of the party. The men were for the most part terrified. The metal behemoths approached and landed with substantial speed at a distance, though even here, they were loud. For several moments, they stood there in awe at the creatures.

On the distance, an even more spectacular sight was seen as a much more massive object approached from above, it was a dull yellow colour with silver edges and was of an unbelievable size. It must have been more than five hundred feet long, perhaps even six hundred, and seventy feet tall- even Balerion the Black Dread had not reached such a size! Some men shouted "dragons!", while others simply screamed "run for your lives," and others still wheezed or said prayers to whatever God they worshipped. To Kevan, he was simply dumbfounded. The beings resembled dragonflies as they hovered down, though far louder and seemingly made of metal. The eyes were shiny and transparent like glass, and there was only one on each of them. As they landed, they had not legs, but wheels like a cart. These could hardly be different from dragons!

Noises rocked the soldiers as they looked on. The sellswords too were getting restless, picking up stones and threatening the newcomers ahead. A fine way to get themselves killed! But then, they were only hired men, and monstrous ones at that. Then the doors open. These weren't living things at all, but vessels! Like ships of the air!

Out of it stepped some of the strangest Knights Kevan ever saw. They had huge silver armour covering their entire bodies, even their joints, while their visors had what seemed to be glass, eliminating all possible weak spots. Protocols were called out by the soldiers as the exited the sky-vehicles and grouped into formation, showing great discipline in their command structure.

The men and women by their voices all seemed to be not to tall but very robust as a result of their tough armour, which looked far more efficient than anything the Westerosi had. Between them came a man in a suit without his helmet, but a young and eager appearance to him.

"Greetings, outlanders." The man said. "I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel. Ever since the Disturbance, we've heard reports of leaving the former continent of the United States of America and finding ourselves in a new land, and it's of profound impact to see this is real." It was clear they were just as surprised as himself at the moving of world's, though they were doubtlessly more informed. "Scouts have moved out for hundreds of miles and only seen new lands outside of Boston, so it seems fitting that your people wished to do the same. Of course, an army of your size in our territory is threatening despite your low level of technology. Why have you come here?" His Knights pointed their weapons towards him and the expedition's other commanders, in a threatening manner. Danse raised a hand and they lowered theirs.

Kevan spoke up. "I am Lord Kevan of House Lannister, from Casterly Rock under my brothers orders, and I have been sent on royal decree to scout this new territory for military threats. So far, I have seen many things I never thought I would see, things of extreme danger and hostility, that if let loose, could doom our lands. I hope you are not such beings, I presume?"

"We're not raiders by any means. We have aim to rid the Commomwealth and the continent of our origin from the savages of supermutants, raiders and from the technologically foolish. The misuse of it lead to our world being destroyed, so we do not want yours to follow the same fate. But now an even bigger threat is ahold of us than raiders, mutants or even the radioactive bombs- the synths!"

People seemed puzzled at the mentioning of 'synths' and 'mutants', looking around to see if anyone knew. A foot soldier hesitantly put his hand up, possibly fearing the wrath of his superiors. "What are these things you speak of, milord? We've never heard anything like this!"

Others nodded, mumbling amongst themselves, and even Kevan seemed puzzled on the mention of these words. He said "indeed, what are these things you mention?"

This 'Danse' began. "Both of these things I mentioned are blights of human technology without proper supervision and with the wrong intentions. The withered ghouls are a result of the radiation changing them into those ugly things, with most losing their minds and being like beasts. The mutants came from the FEV vats designed to make a better breed of soldier with total disregard for ethics, but were misused by a madmen to try and take over the planet, but fortunately he was foiled by a man lost to the sands of history." This reminded Kevan of the stories his father had once told him of the Long Night and the Last Hero who had supposedly saved the world.

"We're grateful he's dead, or else we'd all have become mutants by now. The worst by far of all these threats are the synths of course. Robots, that is, metal contraptions created to help men in their tasks, designed to resemble humans on every way, but stronger, faster and deadlier, with many completely loyal to the cancerous organisation that is the Institute. They replace humans in the night, killing them and using a synth duplicate to take their place and monitor us for their own malevolent purposes. Some have gained free will and roam unchecked as monstrous raiders and false humans. Free or not, they're abominations that need destruction and containment. Perhaps some of your own men have been replaced, so you need to be wary!"

Men looked around at their partners to see if anyone was behaving suspiciously, with wary looks in their eyes. Kevan himself looked at his squire and vice versa to see anything that had changed. They gave mutual looks of suspicion, followed by sighs of relief, as neither appeared to have had any changing characteristics. _If this is what we're up against, then we can't afford to take prisoners,_ he thought. He heard a scuffle and saw his men fighting about two hundred feet to his north west. He got off his mount and went over, fuming at such insubordination.

"What is the meaning of this?" He called as his men fought.

"We found a synth, we think!" One of the soldiers shouted as they held down another, who was kicking and screaming and biting to get his way out.

"I'm not a monster! I have a wife and family in Flea Bottom! Let me go!" The man was bought forward.

Danse approached. "What's your name?"

"Lesley of Flea Bottom. I swear by the old gods and the new that I'm not one of your 'synths'. Please let me out."

Danse handed him a small weapon. It was a smaller version of the red fire shooting weapons the Brotherhood Knights carried, but with different colours and a blue light around it. He simply said "use it as you wish."

Without thinking, this Lesley grabbed it and tried to fire it at the Knights, despite having never seen one before, supposedly. Those men loyal to him staggered back or were blasted in the shoulder, with the victim lashing out in pain at the hole in his shoulder. Kevan marvelled at the change in tone and ability that he had. The Knights tolerated for a few seconds before shooting their red thunder and reducing him to ash, except for his head. Everyone was horrified.

A metal component fell out of Lesley's neck where his spine should have been. He must have been a synth!

"This is what you're up against, Westerosi! They number in the hundreds and thousands and have replaced people around our land for years, and they are starting to replace yours already. Unless we can stop them together, the Commonwealth, Westeros and even beyond will be under their control. Is that what you want?"

Men all around the expedition shook their heads, and shouted and swore negatives at this invisible threat. The sellswords looked at each other, as if looking the other down for details that were out of place. It was true. Kevans own men were being replaced with mechanical monsters, the Institute's monitoring had been tracking them and obtaining information. They would need to be wary. This Institute could threaten the crown and take everything under their shadowy influence. And renegade synths? They could be nearly as dangerous for all he knew. There would be no chances against these abominations.

Kevan spoke up now. "No, we don't want ourselves or our wives and children replaced. We will help you reclaim our humanity. I will need to send a Raven to Kings Landing to let my brother and the Small Council know about this."

Then the paladin looked up. "That won't be necessary, Lord Kevan. We can take you and a few dozen soldiers in the Vertibird squad at once, so you can go directly to your capital. But first, we'd like you to meet our supreme Elder, Arthur Maxson, our leader who will help us cooperate in this alliance." The Vertibirds opened up and soldiers started moving into the vehicles and they were taking off. Kevan went with Danse towards one of the tagged 'Vertibird', with a unique red stripe on it. Danse let him sit down first, and showed him visually how to fasten a belt around him for take-off. He took in a deep breath of air and he looked out as the vehicle began to take off and hover upwards, soon going towards the "Prydwen", the grandest of all these vehicles up in the sky. As he looked around, the metal fliers entered the air like migrating geese. If this was the future of man, he looked forward to it.

 _So begins a new age_ , he thought.


	9. Bran (I)

The hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Nathan, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, Hancock, X6-88 and even the queen's funny little brother had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south.

Bran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon, Codsworth the robot and the giant known as Strong. But Rickon was only a baby and the girls were only girls and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found. Bran did not look for him very hard. He thought Jon was angry at him. Jon seemed to be angry at everyone these days. Bran did not know why. He was now questioning whether to go with Uncle Ben to the Wall, as he saw similar value in these 'minutemen' without the need for celibacy. That was almost as good as going south with the king. Robb was the one they were leaving behind, not Jon. Codsworth was far too much of a spoilsport, even more so than mother, and was too overprotective. As for Strong, he was a simple creature, but fun to be around, especially to play. He had even seen him and Hodor involved with one another regarding the conversations of simpletons. He also never complained about the climbing and other things, but welcomed it as exploration.

For days, Bran could scarcely wait to be off. He was going to ride the kingsroad on a horse of his own, not a pony but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King, and they were going to live in the red castle at King's Landing, the castle the Dragonlords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts there, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, but he was not afraid. How could he be afraid? His father would be with him, and the king with all his knights and sworn swords.

Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold.

Most of the Kingsguard had come north with King Robert to protect him from the horrors that were rising from the Neck and the Wasteland. Bran had watched them with fascination, never quite daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Ser Arys seemed honourable but mild in comparison to the others. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights in the stories, and he was of the Kingsguard too, but Robb said he had killed the old mad king and shouldn't count anymore. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Father noted of the man's legendary fighting abilities and even despite his age, he was still far more capable than any other swordsman here- even Jaime Lannister. Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see a world he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine.

Yet now that the last day was at hand, suddenly Bran felt lost. Winterfell had been the only home he had ever known. His father had told him that he ought to say his farewells today, and he had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Preston the kindly man who had showed him his first gun and how to use a 'pistol', Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but "Hodor," the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit . . .

But it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall, except it wasn't his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony behind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. He turned and ran off before Hodor and the other stableboys could see the tears in his eyes. That was the end of his farewells. Instead Bran spent the morning alone in the godswood, trying to teach his wolf to fetch a stick, and failing. The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his father's kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks.

He was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf. Jon's wolf, the white one, was Ghost. Bran wished he had thought of that first, even though his wolf wasn't white. He had tried a hundred names in the last fortnight, but none of them sounded right.

Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing. He hadn't been up to the broken tower for weeks with everything that had happened, and this might be his last chance.

He raced across the godswood, taking the long way around to avoid the pool where the heart tree grew. The heart tree had always frightened him; trees ought not have eyes, Bran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. His wolf came sprinting at his heels. "You stay here," he told him at the base of the sentinel tree near the armory wall. "Lie down. That's right. Now stay—"

The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl.

Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. "Quiet," he yelled. "Sit down. Stay. You're worse than Mother." The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight.

The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran's second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true.

To a boy, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and tunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down so that you couldn't even be sure what floor you were on. The place had grown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Luwin told him once, and its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth.

When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know.

It taught him Winterfell's secrets too. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there were hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery. Bran knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. Even Maester Luwin didn't know that, Bran was convinced.

His mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told her that he wouldn't, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he would stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight, miserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when his brothers were fast asleep.

He confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove.

As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. "You're not my son," he told Bran when they fetched him down, "you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you."

Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes.

Later, Maester Luwin built a little pottery boy and dressed him in Bran's clothes and flung him off the wall into the yard below, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. That had been fun, but afterward Bran just looked at the maester and said, "I'm not made of clay. And anyhow, I never fall."

Then for a while the guards would chase him whenever they saw him on the roofs, and try to haul him down. That was the best time of all. It was like playing a game with his brothers, except that Bran always won. None of the guards could climb half so well as Bran, not even Jory. Most of the time they never saw him anyway. People never looked up. That was another thing he liked about climbing; it was almost like being invisible. Even the perceptive Minutemen didn't look up to these places.

He liked how it felt too, pulling himself up a wall stone by stone, fingers and toes digging hard into the small crevices between. He always took off his boots and went barefoot when he climbed; it made him feel as if he had four hands instead of two. He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all.

Most of all, he liked going places that no one else could go, and seeing the grey sprawl of Winterfell in a way that no one else ever saw it. It made the whole castle Bran's secret place.

His favorite haunt was the broken tower. Once it had been a watchtower, the tallest in Winterfell. A long time ago, a hundred years before even his father had been born, a lightning strike had set it afire. The top third of the structure had collapsed inward, and the tower had never been rebuilt. Sometimes his father sent ratters into the base of the tower, to clean out the nests they always found among the jumble of fallen stones and charred and rotten beams. But no one ever got up to the jagged top of the structure now except for Bran and the crows.

He knew two ways to get there. You could climb straight up the side of the tower itself, but the stones were loose, the mortar that held them together long gone to ash, and Bran never liked to put his full weight on them.

The best way was to start from the godswood, shinny up the tall sentinel, and cross over the armory and the guards hall, leaping roof to roof, barefoot so the guards wouldn't hear you overhead. That brought you up to the blind side of the First Keep, the oldest part of the castle, a squat round fortress that was taller than it looked. Only rats and spiders lived there now but the old stones still made for good climbing. You could go straight up to where the gargoyles leaned out blindly over empty space, and swing from gargoyle to gargoyle, hand over hand, around to the north side. From there, if you really stretched, you could reach out and pull yourself over to the broken tower where it leaned close. The last part was the scramble up the blackened stones to the eyrie, no more than ten feet, and then the crows would come round to see if you'd brought any corn.

Before he could start, he saw the newcomer Strong underneath him at the seem of the tree, curious to see what was going on.

"Bran have fun climbing and exploring places. Strong love to explore and find new places. Strong jealous of Bran! Want to come along!" It was true that Strong was great to play with, either with his brothers or on his own. Father would not let much fighting be involved, as a giant of that size would simply be too dangerous for anything serious, particularly how dim-witted he was. He only seemed to trust Nathan at first, but he had taken a particular liking to Bran as well for whatever reason. Despite his non-human nature and low intelligence, Bran was happy to have someone to spend time with and go on adventures with.

"Aren't you a bit big to climb things like castle walls and trees? They'd collapse if you went in them surely?" Over eight hundred pounds would easily be enough to crush many wooden structures and make branches fall out, but perhaps the stone walls would be more stable, as long as he was careful.

"Strong don't think that fair! Strong angry, Strong wish to smash!"

"Alright, alright, you can come with me. Just be careful, we don't want you falling and hurting yourself, or more likely someone else."

As he swung from the tree to the guard tower, Strong started to climb up slowly but steadily, though with insecurity. Bran prompted him to grab stones that stood out and avoid any which looked precarious, in simple language of course. Soon, Strong was discretely moving about near to where Bran was.

"Strong climbing like Bran! Strong need to teach other mutants this!"

Bran shushed him. "Be quiet, others may here you!" He whispered to the giant, who immediately went to a more stealthy mindset as he arched his body closer to the rocks to become quieter. Soon, he too was on the broken tower, making sure to hold onto each gargoyle while hugging the sides of the tower for grip due to his sheer size and reach. He was getting the hang of it, but remained agitated.

Bran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all his life.

"I do not like it," a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the voice was drifting out of the last window on this side. "You should be the Hand."

"Gods forbid," a man's voice replied lazily. "It's not an honor I'd want. There's far too much work involved."

Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by. He saw Strong beneath the window was also listening with curiosity.

"Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" the woman said. "Robert loves the man like a brother."

"Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion."

"Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him."

"We ought to count ourselves fortunate," the man said. "The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night."

They were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window.

"We will have to watch him carefully," the woman said.

"I would sooner watch you," the man said. He sounded bored. "Come back here."

"Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck, especially after all those monstrosities started appearing," the woman said. "Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. His Wastelanders friends are fortifying the North and trying to win over our children and men, while our forces are stretched out. We're yet to hear from Uncle, so it's the perfect time for Eddard to strike. Why else would he leave the seat of his power? "

"A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, to avoid all this chaos spreading through his lands, or all of those things. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life."

"His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. It's a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations."

Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach.

"You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow."

"That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed."

"If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing."

"When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie."

"Mothers." The man made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." He paused a moment. "Or does she?"

"Do you think the king will require proof?" the woman said. "I tell you, he loves me not."

"And whose fault is that, sweet sister?"

Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. Strong still hadn't moved much- maybe a step upwards but no more. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears.

"You are as blind as Robert," the woman was saying.

"If you mean I see the same thing, yes," the man said. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king."

"He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" the woman said. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?"

Bran was suddenly very frightened. No bodyguard or friend could quell this primordial terror and foreboding that he felt. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers and friends. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to see who was talking.

The man sighed. "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand."

"Stop that!" the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man's laughter.

Bran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was the easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of the room where they were talking.

"All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister," the man said. "Come here and be quiet."

Bran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around, upside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the window. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its stones still wet with melted snow.

Bran looked in the window.

Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man's back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall.

There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. "Stop it," she said, "stop it, stop it. Oh, please . . . " But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast.

Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen.

He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed.

Everything happened at once then. The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting. He felt a hand steadying one of his legs from below in support, and an agitated heartbeat from it, allowing him to push up a little more.

Faces appeared in the window above him.

The queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror.

"He saw us," the woman said shrilly.

"So he did," the man said.

Bran's fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. "Take my hand," he said. "Before you fall."

Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. "What are you doing?" the woman demanded.

The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. "How old are you, boy?"

"Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly.

The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran the start of a shove.

But then a tree trunk like arm grabbed the man's. The man's arm was strong and powerful, but nothing on the level of the super mutant. The woman once again screamed in fright as the mutated former man rose up with rage in his beastly eyes, and his sharpened teeth exposed in a malevolent sneer. Bran too froze in fear at what his 'friend' was doing.

"No one threatens Strong's friends! Strong smash enemies!" He tightened his grip and a horrible crunch came, to which the man too was screaming at, and desperately tried to pull himself out. "Bad man pay!" Strong began to pull, bringing the man's body with him. He inched closer to the window, leaning over the edge. Strong started preparing for another, even stronger movement. Bran realised what was happening.

"No, Strong, don't do it!" He cried with tears of fear in his eyes.

"Noooooo!" The woman cried.

It was too late. Strong threw the man with a single arm out of the tower head first. He looked to the side as the man landed in a dive, with his head and neck bending to an unnatural angle, and blood coming out soon. He looked in horror as Strong took the back of his shirt, grabbed him with no effort and swung off while the woman screamed in the background, going towards the next side of the tower towards the fortifications edges.

"Strong escape!" The beast muttered.

Bran only had the nerve to utter a few words. "W-w-what have you done?" As Strong swung from the tower towards Winterfell's great gate and started to climb down towards the outer walls.

Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn, and finding the meat of a lion instead.


	10. Nathan (II)

The journey back from the hunt had been long and leasurely for the most part. Only the sight of a centaur frightened the group sufficiently, and strangely Robert's health seemed a little less than average. He had a suspicion of what it was, but he had no radaways upon him as they were back at the Castle.

The Hunt itself had been exciting and dangerous. Robert chased the beast with his Warhammer while the Royal archers took aim. X6-88 shot down some deer as they escaped to provide some healthy venison. He still didn't trust the synth for being a member of such a shadowy organisation- the one that had taken Shaun. But openly starting hostilities before he had even made contact would be extremely dangerous.

Ultimately, it had been a lucky shot from Hancock that brought the giant boar down, and so he had been honoured greatly by everyone present. The scent of the meal attracted predators like wolves and the odd bear, normal or Yao-Guia, but things were often repealed easily. A deathclaw had came out and frightened everyone. The King's cousin in law and squire soiled himself in fear at the sight of what they called a demon, but Nathan, Hancock and X6-88 knew what they were dealing with. Armour piercing rounds, the odd grenade and some skilled footwork brought the monster down, while Robert walked over in drunken stupor and bashed its head in with his hammer, laughing and roaring as he went on finishing it off. He thought it was cruel to prolong the suffering and dignity of the beast, but it's what had to be done, he supposed. Afterward, wine and wenches came along the victors, except for Ned who of course refused, while he and Robert spoke of the boy Jon. Overall, they got back safe and sound. Such a fine trip it was.

And now this.

The kingslayer's body had clearly been out for a while now by the look of it, as it was now pale and the eyes were starting to sink. It was now clothed on the table to preserve the man's dignity. He heard the others present say their opinions.

"Gods, he was a dishonourable man, murdering his own King and many things I don't know about, but he was a loyal kingsguard to me, and he did finish that monster Aerys, so I have to thank him. Cersei's in hysterics from losing her brother, Tyrion doesn't know yet and I don't want to think of whoever informs Tywin of this." The King certainly had a bitter tone in his voice, yet it was definitely not grief.

"I never thought the big guy could do something like this." Hancock remarked. "Maybe his nature kicked in and he just... snapped?"

Robert looked depressed. "And I thought that thing could be a kingsguard. Our own Gregor Clegane, damn it. Others take it now!"

It was true. He had talked with Robert and Ned regarding a place for Strong in the army. He would have his own suit of armour, a super sledge and a shield, all with modifications from yours truly. He would then have been used to recruit the wastelands supermutants and form an army of kingsguard like even the Targaryens never had- an army of giants personally sworn to the King. Preposterous, but it kept his hopes high at least. Now, those were out of the window.

Hancock again started to comment. "The guy seemed like a pretentious asshole if you ask me, and why was he naked when he fell?"

"The woman says he was taking a bath there for some privacy while Strong took the Stark boy, and that Jaime tried to defend him but was killed. At least that's what she said." Robert seemed doubtful already.

Hancock dismissed this. "I doubt he'd take that much effort to find a bath somewhere that private. He was clearly in some kind of... situation with someone. A handsome guy like that would definitely be able to bed anyone he wanted and get away with it. I thought these Kingsguard were supposed to be celibate or something?"

Robert lamented. "In theory yes, but really most take the words of the vow and face value. 'Have no wife and father no children' are fine with them, but you'd have a hard time finding one who hadn't visited a brothel or fallen in love. It's a farce really."

Nathan seemed suspicious now too. "Who would he have been getting frisky with at this point, especially somewhere so isolated? His brother never was so isolated when he had a whore. Makes you wonder if this wasn't just some fling but something more secret. Where was the queen in all this?"

Robert talked. "However it was, it shouldn't matter. He's dead now, one of my guards and the ideal heir to Casterly Rock. The political implications will be huge. I need a good Hand to handle with this shit, because kingly duties were never to my liking."

Hancock started. "Aren't you going to make Ned in that position, surely it would be-"

Ned walked in now, with a look of stress and unease on his face. He turned angrily to Nathan now.

"I can't find my son anywhere. Strong must have taken him. You said he was under your control! I believed you despite all my instincts, which was stupid on my behalf. Why would he kill one of the Kingsguard and kidnap my son if he's under control?"

Nathan hesitated. _He'd taken the boy too? What was he thinking?_

"Lord Stark, this is not something I had known about, I think-"

Lady Stark walked in with Maester Luwin in tow. She glared at him.

 _Smack!_

The pain ran raw on his cheek. Natalie had never hit him, nor him her, and he hadn't been hit like this since his days in the bars, only this was much worse in tone.

"How dare you, Green! How dare you turn a blind eye to a monster and let it kill our guests and take my little boy. You know what it's like to lose someone you love, to have them taken from you by beastly men, and yet you've done this to me now?"

Nathan's voice and tone raised at his offence. "Don't you dare bring up Shaun to me, I have tried **everything** I can to find him and not yet come through with it. I had nothing to do with this. Your son is the one who climbs so much, Strong must have tried playing a game with him."

"And then murdered the kingslayer in cold blood? What kind of game is this?" Ned interceded. "It was your choice to bring it up here. Strong's been nothing but trouble and nuisance since we came here. You heard him say how much he wanted to kill and eat us once he found his milk. This may be his bidding, but it's you who let him off the leash, and you should pay for it!"

He got angry now. "Listen, Stark! This is not something I have planned. I've given your primitive people so many things over this last fortnight and you wanted more in its place. I've lost those I love too, and I've taken my revenge, and I'll do it again. This is not my fucking fault!"

Hancock interceded. "I always knew it was a bad decision to bring him up here, but at the same time you really should keep an eye on that boy you supposedly love and wish to protect."

Cat replied. "I will not have my ability to parent questioned by a leather skinned degenerate like yourself who ruined his own life through substances and debauchery. You have no place in this!"

"Enough!" Roared the King. He soon panted and laid his hand on the desk where Jaime Lannister's body lay.

"It's true that this Strong was bought up here by you Nathan, and you didn't discipline him out of his human hating ways, but it was you Ned who refused to let him go on the hunt away from the children and the Lannisters. You've both lost children, so I suggest..." He groaned as he staggered, and his nose was bleeding, while his skin was pale and . He did not look good.

"... Urgh, that you... work together to find your children for the good of the kingdom. Nathan, I... want you to travel south with us to King's Landing. With these raiders and monsters from the Wasteland seeping in, the gods know we need someone with your experience and wisdom on the small council. All these technologies need to be... spread about the people. Think of how many we could save from those... savages. Ned, I... need you more than ever now. I understand you... want to keep your... people (cough) safe, but..." He fell down. Nathan got to his side and picked him up, with Hancock steadying him from the front.

"Medic! Someone get a stimpak now! Does anyone have Radaway?" Ned came to his other side to help the King up. He was a big and fat man, but he still had some ability to walk even at this point.

"What's all this fuss about, I'm trying to rest after that damned journey."

 _Shit, the Imp._

The dwarf was preparing to say another witty remark as he had done many times before, but his eyes immediately locked in his brither's body there and then. He dropped his chalice of wine and his malformed skin turned pale. The mismatched eyes open, and as he walked out, Nathan could see tears start to well up. He left before he had to see much more.

"Let him grieve, it's only fair." Nathan said as he carried the bloated Baratheon to the door. They brought the King out of the chamber and into Luwin's personal ones to lay him down. The search began for what was wrong.

"I can't find an injury." Ned said.

"Perhaps it was poisoning. He ate something unsafe?" Cat interceded.

Hancock replied. "Indeed, but not the kind you're used to."

"Then what could it be. This doesn't look like nightshade or Tears of Lys or any I've seen in all my years." The Maester concluded. "Do you know, Wastelanders?"

"Radiation poisoning. He must have eaten some bad things here." Nathan asked Luwin for some equipment.

"None of your medication is directly going to work with rads poisoning. You have to make something new entirely." Panic was racing through his head as he thought of a way to save the big King from certain death or injury. _This couldn't just be from eating some small radioactive foods,_ he thought. Some foul play must be going on. But from who? He would need to find out soon. But the task at hand was more urgent.

"Hancock! Go and fetch me some meds from the bay. You got any rad-X or fixer around?" Nathan wasn't as sure in his Chems, especially without a bay to make them like he did back in Boston. If only he'd brought a bigger team with more caravans and such to transport the goods. But these would have to do.

"Rad-X stops you from getting it in the first place, pal, it doesn't help much once you've got it. There's got to be other ways to deal with this kind of thing. Wait! I have an idea!"

"Be quick!" Lady Stark warned. "This is no time for inventions or games!"

"Some antiseptic which is useful for every wound really, some of that fungus from the caves, some water, some alcohol to kill any bacteria and some of this 'Potassium Iodide' I found in one of the chemical plant ruins that apparently was used to cure it before the War. Maybe another ingredient would be useful to stop this from spreading."

"Just get on with it." Ned was calmer now, though still more agitated than his normal stoic self.

"Those are the ingredients of Radaway, minus the potassium iodide! Great job Hancock. How do we put it in though, there's no syringe."

"Syringe?" The Maester noted.

"A thin tube used to inject or extract things from or into a person, like with the stimpaks that you've seen." Nathan explained. _I thought I told these guys through my stay here_ , he thought. "Now, any ideas?"

Robert spoke up now. "put it in the wine. That'll make me drink, no question."

"But, your grace-" Ned started.

"The Others take your honour and courtesy, Ned, just save me!" The King clearly wanted to live against the odds.

Hancock complied, mixing it well and effectively and pouring it into a pitch of sweetened Arbor Wine. "Here, your Grace." He hesitantly said. Nathan could see he wasn't too confident about the spontaneous mix.

He drank, despite wrenching faces until it was all gone. "Aaaaauuugh! That's going to sting later." He said. He tried to get up now.

Hancock held him down with a hand on the shoulder. "Take it easy big guy, it won't kick in immediately, but I may have just saved your life. Just stick around to be sure."

The King and company walked out of Luwin's office as he took the cup and went to start making tests of it to analyse the new formulas. Nathan shook his hand and they left to walk out. They found X6-88 in their way.

"It's clear the Lannistets are behind this, Lord Stark. Cersei hates you and Robert and always has, and after Strong killed her brother, it's clear she wanted revenge against you by association. You must not take this lightly. I have reason to believe their relationship was more than just sibling like"

Nathan was suspicious. "And how would they get access to radiation exactly? The symptoms started way before the Strong incident. Hell, they were starting to appear when Robert first arrived here. That doesn't add up. And are you seriously suggesting incest?"

X6-88 replied with a snarky element to his normal stoicism. "Of course it's been a long time planning this betrayal. They must have collected some radioactive sources while we were out scouting on the way up. She must have bought or bullied from some locals and sipped it in is drinks and food with help from her cousin Lancel, whom she also has under her belt. That's the best way I can think of that allowed this to happen. The Institute has no part in this- we want to ensure peace and prosperity to all of mankind, Wastelanders and Westerosi alike, and we will continue to help as long as you help us."

Before Nathan could speak, Ned opened his mouth. "This makes sense, though I still see little evidence that Jaime and Cersei were with each other."

"You'll see soon", the synth said. "My masters call me back to report, so I can no longer be present. I will see you when I see you, Survivor." He turned to Nathan, and with a quick blue flash, he was gone.

"Sorcery!" Luwin cried. Even the strongest stories of magic in this world never had anything like teleporting in it. But after killing the other courser to find Sean, Nathan knew they could teleport at will.

"No sorcery here," he said. "this is technology at its greatest. The Instiyte can transport whole armies across, and they're a danger. I have contacts back in the Commonwealth, and I'll do my best to get in contact and find them again, though it could be dangerous."

Ned and Robert were dumbfounded. "There's no evidence for any incest." The King said. "Even that bitch Cersei couldn't be that vile, could she? But it makes sense she wanted to kill me, and now I have the last laugh. This looks like we're on a path to war, and it's not something we can take lightly if and when it does happen. Perhaps what happened to Jon Arryn was related to them, but what could that involve? Regardless, we can't jump to conclusions. X6-88 is our best informant with regards to the wastelands, technologies and the Synths, so we need to trust him with this too. After all, it's our war now too."

"Agreed." The icey Lord of Winterfell replied. Of the Westerosi, only Cat was questioning the information. He turned to Hancock.

 _Trusting the Institute is going to be one big mistake,_ he thought.


	11. Tyrion I

The temporary home for the coffin was cold and drafted even by the standards of Winterfell, and it was not the kind of place that a funeral should be held. He had been here for some time following his discovery around the King and the other northerners. _We should be back in King's Landing,_ the Imp thought. _Or better yet, Casterly Rock_. He was grateful the others had given him good time to grieve for his loss, but hours, even days still didn't feel enough. It would take a lifetime, if ever to move through such change. Already, the Kingsguard and local Minutemen were going on a manhunt for Strong in the Godswood, where it's possible he may have also taken Ned's son. Bran was it? Truth be told, he had never thought the green giant would lash out with such brutality, given how well he was with the children, but that is exactly what had happened, and the trust that had been made was severed.

Already, paranoia was setting in throughout Winterfell and beyond. This Nathan had brought in a monster to Winterfell, and there were meant to be many other ones in that Wasteland, some even larger, and all with the potential to spill out into Westeros. If they were to organise themselves and learn to replicate, they could be almost unstoppable, he figured. And that wasn't even taking into account how little the Wastelanders themselves trusted each other. An attempt on the King's life had been made, involving a Wasteland factor known as radiation, something noone else in the known world had access to, and he had some good ideas on who it could be that tried this, but those would wait for now. Whoever was guilty or innocent did not matter at this point.

It was the end of an era for Tyrion. The one sibling- no, the one member of his destabilised family that had given him any respect or trust was gone. Jaime had done things that were definitely not what he would approve of, such as fuck his sister, father her children, who clearly meant nothing to him, whom were destined for the throne that was not theirs, and spit honour in the face many a time. And he could definitely be a bully when he wanted to be, particularly on father's request.

But he had been there for Tyrion in times of need, stood for him when noone else in the family did. Perhaps father would have thrown him into the ocean when mother died had it not been for Jaime. Perhaps the most crucial of all was that he had tried to help him in his own way with Tysha, though the gods knew that had been something he would rather forget. He had also helped the imp through many disputes with Cersei or father. He knew that father would never allow Casterly Rock to fall into Tyrion's hands, but Jaime at least had the courtesy to offer him some dignity, which was worth far more than any honours of foolish men like Ned Stark or Jon Arryn.

He could feel a tear in his mismatched black eye welling up as he looked at his sibling's body, fortunately washed clean of the blood that had been on it, but lifeless nonetheless. The green coloured beads were placed over his eyes, a supposed window into the next life once the Seven had judged him. _He'd be lucky if he wasn't in the Seven Hells by now_ , he thought.

The Stark girl, her irritating friend Jeyne Poole and his niece Marcella would surely have believed this to be a case of a noble man caught in misfortune, giving his life attempting to save an innocent child from a savage beast out of control. Tyrion knew that wasn't Jaime and never was. Something bad had definitely happened with that green giant and the Stark boy. He couldn't figure out what yet.

A door opened behind him, and he didn't need to turn to see who it was, based on the perfumes and the slow footsteps made in her delicately embroiled boots. A slow breeze could be felt as the door was closed, and the sounds of a slow, tired feminine breath came into view. Now he could see.

He saw she was wearing a black dress, with emeralds embedded into it to amplify the colour of her eyes, and streaks of silver around the arms and beneath the busom. Her face was much more pale than usual, as if drained of life. Her hair was not its normal shape, as if she had not bothered her handmaidens to comb it into the correct shape. It was not an audience she wanted at this time. He had truly never seen her in such a state before.

"Sweet sister, for once I'm not unhappy to see you here." He lamented as his sister came towards their brother's body. She lay a hand on Jaime's silk-covered chest and sighed, looking into his embroidered eyes-or more accurately, the stones. Cersei removed them and looked into the real ones, closed as if he was merely sleeping. She had done enough weeping, he could tell. But the grief was far from over.

"It's been over a day and I still can't believe it in my heart, you know. We came into the world together, lived together, and I thought we would die together as well. I was wrong."

She sounded bitter at this loss, and there was resentment in her voice. Resentment on a deeper level than mere regrets of not seeing someone enough before they passed on. He could see that something wasn't normal with this grief, as she was clearly angry at Jaime for something. He came closer to her, and he found himself wrapped in her embrace. She had not shown him such kindness in years. Perhaps such a tragedy bought what little goodness was in her heart back into the surface. After a couple of moments, she released herself from him thoroughly, as if disgusted with herself. _No_ , he thought. _She has certainly not changed._

She started again. "I've contemplated it you know. Death. To leap from that same tower where he was lost. Both of us we were closer than normal siblings, who share only blood. Someone like you couldn't understand such a bond, the monster you are. Otherwise Mother would still be with us." She never lost her venom, even when contemplating whether her life was worth living or not. "I certainly would not fear such peace in the void. But if I were to do that, what would be left for my-no, our children? They can't know the truth, and so they can never know who their father really was. Or our enemies will use that against us."

Her voice became more bitter and the hidden rage began to unravel. It was clear she spoke merely of herself and Jaime, and not of Tyrion himself. She brushed his face and looked up, her face twisted into a cold rage. "Those Wastelander outsiders took him from me, I know it! They have brought nothing but ruin and false promises to us and the lands. They shall know the wrath of a lioness! All of them!" She seemed on the verge of shouting at this point.

He got up from his knees and looked her in the eye. "He was my sibling too, you know." He turned back to his brother. "He was there when noone else was, even when he looked distant. He always held some loyalties, buggar what the people say."

"I cannot help but agree." Cersei lamented as she looked out of the room. Goldcloaks stood outside the chamber. Tyrion wondered who could possibly replace his brother in such an esteemed organisation.

He continued. "I don't agree with everything he's done, or everything he's planned to do. I certainly don't think he planned for this. But one thing is for sure and that is we need to adapt to changing circumstances. It's what he would want after all. If it were one of us who had perished, he would not be able to forgive himself either, I like to think." He hesitated to the next part.

"But for all our emotions for this event, there are many implications this has for the Realm too. First of all, a new Kingsguard will need to be selected. It may seem minor, but there aren't many I know of available for such a position. Secondly and far more importantly, Father will not take the death of his favourite child lightly, so any diplomacy that has been recently conducted will be at best problematic, if not impossible. He always loved Jaime more than he did either of us."

He knew his next words would bring some level of offence, but he cared not. "You were a woman and so ineligible for all his plans, left to be a mere subject of marriage, and I the 'Imp', forever a bastard in his eyes. My drinking and whoring certainly hasn't helped his precious Lannister lion's image. This will be far worse than any of that, though. Kevan's reports alone have made him suspicious, and this could send him over the edge. What he will do now could make the Reynes and Tarbecks feel as if they were given mercy." He felt not the need to exaggerate. His father was capable of many things, even as if from a perspective of one playing cyvasse.

"You be careful to compare yourself, dwarf. There is no comparison between us. You would side with the Starks with their northern honour, my oafish husband Robert and that Nathan, the one who brought the monster in the first place. I'll see his head on a spike for it! And the monster itself will get far worse. The only newcomer even remotely of note is that 'Codsworth', and even he is too loyal to Nathan to truly be of use to us, though it would be handy to have others like him." She put her hands in the open coffin and touched Jaime's cold hand. "Your closeness to those arrogant newcomers has led to this, and you will regret it one day. I'll make sure of it." She let go of the hand after a gentle squeeze.

Tyrion was intrigued and annoyed of this accusation. "Where you find the cheek of accusing me of plotting my own brothers' death I will never know. After all, you've treated me like pig shit ever since my birth and given me much reason to betray you, but I can assure you I haven't so far, and certainly not in a way that endangered our sweet brother." He now turned to be an accuser himself.

"However, I feel you had more of a role then you care to admit. Where and when did the beast supposedly strike, and how was the boy involved? Jaime clearly wasn't alone in that tower, and no baths are there to my knowledge either, so don't give me that!"

She huffed at him and snarled under her breath. "The boy was a climber, a very skilled one at that, Stark and his wife have said just that much. He climbed that day and the beast followed in his steps, wanting to learn itself. It showed..."

Tyrion didn't need to hear more. "He caught you together, didn't he? You couldn't keep it to yourselves any longer. You *had* to have one another once again, and you finally paid the price for it." He saw his sister blush and look away from his disfigured face. He knew he had her where he wanted now, so he pressed further.

"The boy saw Jaime inside you, not knowing what you were doing, Jaime tried to do something stupid like silence him, much to your protest, but then the Strong beast lunged out to protect the boy and that resulted in Jaime's fall, after which you screamed for your life as the monster took the boy and climbed down Winterfell's gates. I have a very clear picture of what's happened, and that is you were both victims of your own stupidity and recklessness. You should thank the gods Robert wasn't there to find out, or you would all be dead by now."

Like a viper, she remarked again, getting up from her crouch finally, her face reddening more with anger. "You're a perceptive little beast you know, brother. You always were. But you're not as clever as you think you are. You trust where it does not deserve. Trusting the outsiders had been our biggest mistake so far. It will not happen again."

"I'm still cleverer than you on that regard." He knew she hated that sort of speak. "Do you really think demonising an entire new people, no, peoples is going to get us anywhere? Their weapons alone could rip us to shreds on the battlefield. I read their books- these 'guns' eliminated the need for Knights and smallfolk militias- anyone could defend themselves theoretically. The Minutemen and that queer Institute aren't the only people there after all. You've heard about those raiders? They make wildlings seem kind in comparison, torturing, raping and pillaging where they go! If it was them attacking the Wall every so often, we would be under their chains like some Ghiscari whore!"

"And Strong? There are hundreds, maybe thousands like him if the reports from uncle Kevan and the Minutemen are correct. Some are like giants of the stories of old, weidling clubs of iron and big enough to rip apart men and beast alike with their bare hands. They won't give up those rights anymore than the Wise Masters would give up slavery." He tried to defuse the tension of the conversation. "Besides, they are not all savages; many of the newcomers seem fine. The Minutemen have offered lots to Winterfell already, and if we are friendly, we could gain much of of them too. Think what we could do if we befriended these Wastelander factions! This 'Hancock' for example seems a pleasant fellow. One conversation we had led to-" he was cut off by his sweet sister.

"I don't care about your petulant stories brother, I care about what's at hand. We have to inherit what Jaime left behind for us, the weight of House Lannister and of the world lies on our shoulders, and it is us who will decide the course of history. If you want to avoid being a footnote in that history, you'd better have to stay out of my way, because a grieving woman has greater wrath than any dragon." She got up. "See you at the dinner, brother." As she got up, he asked another question.

"Was it you who tried to poison Robert? Rumours are starting all around that you tried to off him like you supposedly murdered Jon Arryn. Is it true you spiked his drinks with radioactive substances?"

"Not at all." She noted. "Neither I, not any of my direct servants had any material to obtain it safely. Trust me, I tried. I want Robert dead more than anyone else, but I have neither the patience nor the desire to have such dangers inflict our lands even more than they have already. Clearly there are others who wish to have a new ruler on the throne. It seems these Wastelanders also wish to play the game of thrones. We shall see where that goes."

She walked out to the door, slamming it behind her. Once again, he was alone.

One time, back when they were children, Jaime had gotten him a horse to ride specially for his size, one of a short stature but sturdy frame. The two had walked together in the forest surrounding their family's home, back before Jaime had been appointed to the Kingsguard by Aerys, and while Father was still in the capital.

Tyrion was too young for whores at this point and so still had plenty to learn. The ride had been long but good, he remembered, and they had seen some of the Westerlands' last wild Lions, which were truly a sight to see. But when he got back, Jaime found he was going to be sent to Crakehall to be a squire to some knight who's name had been long forgotten, leaving Tyrion with his uncles for years. The next few years had been hard with the Rebellion and all that, but at least he didn't have Cersei with him.

But it this wasn't that time anymore. That was over twenty years ago. This was now. Remembering the past wouldn't bring his brother back. What he had to do now was continue to be strong and to handle whatever was coming his way. No one, not even his own family- especially not his own family, could truly be trusted fully, even if it was possible to entertain the possibility of friends at times.

He said a final farewell to his brother before he sent in the guards to close the coffin and allow it to be transported to the carriage, where the body would be taken to Casterly Rock. He went to his room for a few hours to read and nap. After all, healing can take a while, and books would help uplift his spirits for the rest of the day.

After a while, he finished 'The Life of Four Kings' and got up to get a glass of Arbor wine the Royal escort had taken up with him. After sipping it, he carried it with him out of the room and down the corridor. He went out into the main hall and found his family eating together with a recovering Robert and the Hancock both admired.

That ghoul was talking about some tale of a great adventure he'd had with the Sole Survivor of Vault One-Eleven, and how many times they escaped death. Robert certainly wasn't pale like before, and in fact it seemed as if there was some fresh energy to him as well, though something about his colour was different. He nevertheless took a somber face when he saw Tyrion arrive at the table.

"Well, Lord Tyrion," the King spoke- "you managed to say your last goodbyes. I know it's never easy to lose someone you love so suddenly. I remember seeing my parents' ship sinking not far off Storm's End and wondering what kind of gods would allow such a thing. Even more so when I lost Lyanna. I never was as close to Jaime as you, but I know the feeling in your heart."

Tyrion nodded at this, gave a deep breath in and out and changed his tone. Inside, he still felt somewhat empty, but he hoped something could fill that gap, even if only temporarily. He made the effort to smile.

"Thank you for your sympathies, your Grace." He said this sincerely, but it didn't feel like him at heart. "With all the bad things that have happened lately, I think we all need a lift in spirits at this point, so I suggest we celebrate while we still can."

Hancock gave a thumbs up, a local sign of approval apparently. "Good one, pal. Gotta keep your hopes up even when the going gets hard. Especially, in fact."

"That's exactly the message we need to hear." Tyrion enjoyed the company of this ghoul considerably, it would be a shame f he had to stay behind at Winterfell. "After all, Lord Eddard is prepared to be Hand now, and isn't Nathan going to be in the small council soon? A Wastelander, even one as influential as him will surely be something for the books. I even heard some Maesters have gone on an expedition into your lands, though we've heard little so far. No one really knows what's happening in the Iron Islands though, though I look forward to the result of that. The gods know those Greyjoys could do with knocking down a peg or two."

"I can't argue there." The King nodded. It had been he and Ned Stark who had stormed Pyke during the Greyjoy rebellion and brought the attempted king Balon to his knee. Had his father taken the island, it would have been to the gallows.

"Is uncle Jaime ok now?" The little boy Tommen was too young to hear about the dastardly state that the world was in, the death and destruction that occurred in lands old and new, so he should be spared.

"He's resting now, nephew. He's at peace at least." That brought down his feelings again, as this was certainly difficult to bring up.

His sweet sister spoke again. "Your uncle would want you to be strong without him, Tommen. You must try for him, even when it's hard." She seemed resenting that Tyrion had mentioned the state of their brother, the boy's father.

The petulant crown prince Joff began to speak himself. "The man was a fool to try and meet such a beast single handedly and without his armour, I would have sent the Hound and a dozen other men to slay the green monster. My lady would surely see me as her future husband if I were to do such a thing." He looked ahead and stood at an angle, as if on the edge of some cliff, overseeing his future kingdom. His smirk was certainly of the irritable type.

Tyrion felt the need to butt in. "First of all, nephew, you'll need more than a dozen men to down that beast. Even your grandfather's mad dog doesn't have such great size and strength, or those brutish weapons that outclass even a warhammer, and it's skin alone is like chainmail. I have no question of Sandor's ability to fight men and peasants, but I do seriously question if he could go toe to toe with the mutant, especially if he recruits more to his side."

He could see the black haired man behind the boy grunting in response to this, as if trying to be indifferent to others speaking of him. He clearly hated this job just as much as Tyrion suspected.

"As for the second, well, forcing other men to slay a monster for you isn't exactly something noble or likely to get a woman sweeping off her feet. You can dream at that though, of course. If you want to even attempt to court lady Sansa, you need to appeal to her perceptions of knighthood and chivalry, as far fetched and ridiculous as they are."

"I'll show you what I'm capable of when I'm King, Imp! Then you'll see. They will write books about what a wonderful ruler I was, and how I saved the realm from the monsters of the Wasteland, and kept the people under my fair hand. Something you shall never taste!" He spat. Hancock rolled his eyes, though his hat hid this from everyone except Tyrion.

"And that will be a while yet boy." The King finally spoke again. "Now go back to your old playthings while the grown ups talk." The little brat skulked off. The queen assisted Marcella and Tommen out of the room now as well. At the same time as this, Codsworth came to provide entertainment for them, while the big scarred Dog followed them for protection. Tyrion turned back to the adult audience.

"Well, what is there to discuss regarding these 'grown up' things, Your Grace?" He was clearly curious as to the nature of this.

"As you know, I've now sent a letter to your father regarding the situation. I have decided it is within the realm's best interest to give the news of Jaime to him as well. Our manhunt for the beast isn't going as well as I'd hoped, but eventually we will make progress. That there are others of his kind around, without even his little moral restraint will surely be a big enough threat for the Crown to take action. It's my duty as King that this situation of 'super mutants' should be dealt with. If I lose too much to these things, then the people and the lords will despise me even more than they do. And that would mean trouble." He huffed.

"Isn't Ned wanting to take more time to negotiate with the Northern Lords and contain the situation? Or launch a manhunt for Bran? I'm not sure which it is at this point." Hancock said.

Robert dismissed this. "Whatever he's preoccupied with can wait with this kind of threat. We should move in and eliminate the damned mutants, gunners, raiders and such with a sufficiently sized army. I'll lead the bloody thing myself if I have to, leaving Ned in King's Landing to run the realm Nathan can help me on my front. The monsters are another thing entirely, but they should be dealt with easily in comparison. The peaceful factions will be left alone to sort themselves out unless they threaten the realm, though Boston's Civil War will also need resolving, damn it. If the Brotherhood or this 'Institute' come out on top, we could open up a whole new can of worms."

"I for sure don't trust such organisations." The queen, his sweet sister noted.

"Quite, woman! And what's the news on this new Iron Island? The gods know they need more. Even they're not normally this secretive. And what in the bloody hells happened with Summerhall? By the gods, like I needed this kind of shit happening in my reign!" He could sense sarcasm quite clearly in that last sentence.

Tyrion started. "I think that-" He was cut off once more.

The Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark entered the room at this point, having overheard some of the conversations, followed by his irritating Greyjoy ward. The youth smirked at Tyrion and Hancock sitting next to one another.

"And so, the imp and the ghoul are a couple now? When are you two lovebirds going to marry? I bet your babes would kill men with their looks alone!" He laughed at his own joke. The snarky little shit was nearly as bad as Joffrey, and with no family tie to limit Tyrion's disregard for the youth.

"Enough, Theon. We're here to discuss the matters of the realm and of the North. You would do well to pay attention to that. Something may come up about what's happening to your uncle and sister, possivly. Whatever way it is, your insults are innappropriate for the situation."

"Of course, Lord Stark." He returned to an attempt at a solemn tone that his warden had. The Lord of Winterfell came down and sat next to his King.

"I've sent letter to King's Landing an hour ago via Raven. I also have no reports for Kevan. How's the wife doing?" The King was concerning for lady Catelyn in her difficult position.

"She's still fretting, your grace. Not much I can do has consoled her anxiety for Bran. She constantly questions me if he's been eaten by Strong, or wolves, or if he'd escaped, or some other thing. I have to be honest in that this is very difficult to manage having so many dangers at this point, but we northerners are a hard people. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives."

The King and queen sighed at this. "Others take your northern honour, Ned! You are still going to be my Hand despite all of this, that's non-negotiable, even with all these dangers around. How's the hunt going?"

"Rodrick, Jory, Nathan, Preston, Barristan and a few others are searching. They haven't come up with anything so far, but Nathan hopes to bring the beast in peacefully. Benjen has gone back to the Wall, but Jon doesn't wish to come now. He wishes to join those Minutemen and help protect the people. He always did have some strong ideals, and it seems they embody them for him."

Hancock seemed pleased at the latter news. "It's great to see our organisations are crossing over so much. I oversaw Ronnie send some redshirts up north to help them scout instead of your bastard, and some settlers are thinking of joining too. That way, you get more scouts than before, and new weapons for use. Everyone benefits!"

"Those are good insights, Hancock, though it is queer to allow a woman to such positions of military leadership, I guess it's normal for your people for both sexes to be in positions. Like in Dorne, though more all-encompassing."

The queen spoke some. "I guess those Wastelanders do have some useful properties after all, besides their technology of course."

"Quiet, woman!I told you once before, and I'll tell you again!" The King spat. "If we wanted your opinion, I would have asked. Anyway, what's the plan that you folks have once Bran is found?"

Hancock got his hands onto the table as if to play a game of cyvasse. "Well, from our team briefing, Nathan's gonna join your small council in your capital and go on to find Shaun using Institute tech, Preston will form a guard group protecting the Smallfolk and settlers from savages, I'll stay in Winterfell to make sure things are ok here, and the other Minutemen will do their best to pacify the Wasteland and make sure the other factions don't destroy everything. Other than that, it's kinda vague. I heard Piper wants to start a free press for people to publish at their will, some guy wants to make doctors a thing in Westeros, and another wishes to crossbreed Brahmin with aurochs to make the most of both. It's kinda complicated right now." He sighed and poured another honeyed ale for himself.

Tyrion was certainly interested, and poured another glass of wine himself. "Well, at least it seems we have some alliances available with groups. I take it your town of Goodneighbor will be allied to the Crown when we inevitably extend our authority? You may have superior technology, but we have numbers and unity on our side. After all, with all that division to sort out, we need some allies to have."

"You can count Goodneighbor and friends among your allies," the ghoul smiled. "Though I'll warn you that trying to enforce yourself with your guards won't be nice. I've seen some of your soldiers, from all the different houses, and they seem pretty damn shady if you ask me. If you go around looting, raping and pillaging settlers, the Minutemen will respond with fire of their own, and they'll give the Smallfolk the means and desire to defend themselves. Once that happens, well...Westeros won't be the same again."

Ned started. "The last thing we need is the Smallfolk trying to determine themselves. They're not ready or educated enough to look after their own needs besides what their Lord provides. This 'democracy' you Americans speak of may be a good thing in a place where the population is knowledgable, but outside the lords and ladies, these people are not. There'd be anarchy if there was any other way. The military operations in Boston should be done as diplomatically and honourably as possible, or else the realm will bleed."

"It's going to bleed anyway, the rate things are going." Robert certainly seemed cynical, as Tyrion could see from his outlook as he took another slice of garlic bread from the plate. " It'll take a miracle to stop Tywin's warpath once news gets to him, the raiders are getting stronger, not weaker. Stannis broods at Dragonstone. This Brotherhood clearly wants something with all their grandiosity. The Tyrells want a bone to pick too. Dorne still wants revenge for Elia Martell and her dragonspawn, and the gods know what the other small council want." He finished his supper, wiped his mouth and got up.

"Ned and I need private conversation, we'd like you all to leave."

The queen, silent since her husbands outburst was the first to get up. Not surprising of course, Tyrion thought. Next was himself and Hancock, followed by the servants and the Minutemen by the guard. See Boros was the last to leave the room. Tyrion however wished to stay by the door, to see what was happening.

Ned was the first to speak. "Your grace, I'm suspicious about the Lannisters. The information Cersei gave doesn't quite add up, and Tyrion, while understandably low seems to be catching onto things as well. I don't like this at all, but I feel the attempt on your life was something that they carried through with."

Robert hesitated to answer for a few moments, but he prepared some manner of speech. "Ned, Tywin has been my strongest ally in ages, and I have serious doubts about that suggestion Nathan had about Jaime and Cersei being bed friends. The Targaryens were the only ones stupid enough to do something like that, and they're all dead now."

"Not all of them, your grace."

"They will be soon once I get my hands on them. You know I can't let any live and lay claim to my throne. They're dragonspawn, and they have Aerys' blood in their veins. They must die and that is non negotiable."

He took a breather; necessary at his size, and continued. "Right now, the Lannisters are the bigger threat though, and far closer to home. Even that freak X6-88 admitted that the Lannisters most likely did it, and he's been a loyal ambassador for the last fortnight, maybe more if my memory serves me. What's all the fuss about this Institute anyway?"

"I'm not sure, but the risk of the Lannisters is enormous. Jon's death wasn't a coincidence, and neither was the attempt on your life. Lysa Arryn has noted that one of them poisoned Jon; that alone is incentive that something isn't right! We should go against them, but I'm not sure that this 'Institute' is a threat on the same level, or something greater still. We have to be vigilant and prepare for the worst. If the Institute is what they say it is, they can replace people with robotic duplicates that impersonate people and infiltrate us. We saw the synth disappear with a flash, and Nathan days they can appear elsewhere at will. Imagine an army being transported to us from behind, and how dangerous they could be!" Ned raised his tone. "This isn't something we can brush off. The realm may be larger, but the Wastelands have such strategic value they cannot be ignored." He certainly seems right, the dwarf thought.

"Very well, Ned. I know you need to protect the North from such dangers, but surely you can leave that in the hands of Cassel, and your boy Robb? There's no way they could muck up the North more than the Shift did, after all. You and Nathan would be very capable in the new order of things, I think. And no, we cannot afford to confront them, your honour be damned. We want to defeat shrewdness, we have to use our own." He made a movement that Tyrion couldn't determine.

"Of course, Robert. Now, I'm sure the servants need to clean up after us, and we still have that hunt later. Would you be up for that?"

"Of course old friend." That conversation ended and a more trivial one began. Tyrion didn't need to listen anymore.

As he made his way back to the chamber, he resumed the reading he'd started before he found his brother. He sighed and looked out the window. Those fools Robert and Ned were planning their own war, while Cersei and Tywin are readying to mobilise. _Meanwhile, the Institute is playing us all like fools_ , he thought. It wouldn't just be winter coming for the people of Westeros. War was too.


	12. Danse (I)

He could see the city of King's Landing for the first time now. It was far bigger than anything in the Wasteland, and though primitive, it was flourishing from the seems of things. Without modern construction tech, they had managed to build huge castles and fortifications for the nobility, while the poor lived in squalor. It was a shame for so many people to be kept under such a boot, but perhaps the Brotherhood could change that.

Maxson had well received this Kevan Lannister and his top commanders, though he refused to transport more than about four hundred Lannister or so of the soldiers, and none of the Brave Companions, who were vicious savages. Kevan seemed a reasonable man, if easily lead. Fortunately the Britherhood had got to them before the Institute did. They would definitely need allies in this continent, people to protect uplift technologically and monitor to make sure it wouldn't be used. The main problem would be where to land. Then again, landing the Prydwen shouldn't be necessary, only the smaller Vertibirds coming from it. He looked at Lord Kevan, fresh out of the Elder's speech and started.

"I see you are of a high opinion of the Brotherhood and aware of the threats we face now, Kevan Lannister. The time has come for us to extend diplomatic relations with your people to allow cooperation. We are proof that the idea of knighthood and chivalry will not die with the new world, but grow stronger than ever. Are you ready?"

"Of course, Paladin. The contact we've made has been... informative. I hope for the sake of stability that my nephews and niece will take well to your lofty ideals and embrace them. The others in Kings Landing though, may not be so receptive."

"Why is that?" he asked. Two knights came into the Vertibird and sat to his left.

"I believe the people, particularly smallfolk will be terrified of your flying machines, thinking them to be dragons or worse. The same would be of note for your weapons and armour-to them you would look another race than human. Even the nobles may have a hard time adapting to your outlook on life. My brother will certainly be suspicious."

"Well, whatever your brother or the other nobles think, we'll find out soon. Recruit, power up the vehicle!"

A firm "yes, sir!" was heard from the cockpit as the vehicle began to take off from its dock on the Prydwen's cargo hold. More than thirty other vertibirds were stored around this area, and so the sheer scale of the building could be flaunted to the outsiders. _They will surely see the benefits of what we offer in security,_ he remembered Elder Maxson saying in the briefing. Now it was time to see what King's Landing was like up close.

Alongside his own, about a dozen or more other vertibirds descended to the main building, known by locals as 'The Red Keep'. The Capital of this continent was very impressive for primitives, and certainly far beyond any American settlers, but there was much to be improved, he thought. In the courtyard, he could see guards and people crying out in shock and awe at the presence of these Vertibirds coming down to meet them. He could only imagine what was going through their heads.

"They seem eager to meet us at least." The pilot said, initiate Emily, was it? "I wonder what your capital will be like for us. Is the King in?"

Kevan hesitated to reply. "No, the King is north in Winterfell. He already crossed through some of your lands, though not as much as we have. His was to visit his friend to the North and appoint him the new Hand. In his absence and that of the Hand, the Small Council takes its duties to lead the city in case of danger. My brother is here too to recieve my visit, as I have written to him regarding the Wasteland's military situation regularly, and he wishes to meet to discuss more."

"I hope this works out then," Danse thought. Truth be told, his power armour was certainly feeling itchy now, and his fusion core level was quite low and would need changing fairly soon. But he had a few spare laying around the cockpit, and he could see his and the other Vertibirds had almost landed now.

People were rushing out of the way hoping not to be crushed by their vehicles as they descended, while dozens of archers aimed their arrows and crossbows at the ready. A standoff could be occurring.

The bird landed, along with the others in a firm unison. After a few seconds delay, Danse gave the signal and got out f the vehicle in full armour, minus his helmet. To his sides, other fully armoured Knights and Paladins were getting out, aimed with laser rifles, plasma pistols, machine guns and even Gatling lasers in case the locals tried anything. One of the locals came forward.

"Identify yourselves, strangers! By royal decree, you will answer and submit to the Kings Landing authority while in our city!" The man was clearly devoted to his cause, just like he was. He was easily beyond six feet in height, had a balding head and blue eyes, with a stern and authoritative tone. To his side were many guards, and other members of the council. From the back a man with golden whiskers came in on horseback.

His reply was similarly quick and straight to the point. "I am Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel, and we are here to establish diplomatic ties with the Iron Throne in th name of Elder Arthur Maxson. We got into contact with your military expedition led by your own Kevan Lannister, whom we took with us as proof of our need to cooperate. He knows what we are up against and you need to as well."

"Well rehearsed, stranger, but where is your proof of Kevan Lannister being here? And how did you get those...things out from the air?" The man was clearly of the confrontational type. Another man, slightly smaller but younger and more handsome stepped out from behind him.

"What my brother means to say is 'do you have Lord Kevan with you now?' I am also intrigued to see how those things of yours work. And I admit that armour you have is daunting to say the least."

Danse was confused with all these apparent nobles squabbling in the background to their arrival. They had never seen things like Vertibirds, Power Armour, lasers or even guns, so it wasn't unjustified for them to think of that for primitives like these.

He turned to his Vertibird. "Kevan, your friends wish to see you." The Lord came out of his seat to show everyone he was present. He was holding one of the paper bags, and it was clear he had been sick from the journey, yet was clearly embarrassed.

"I am indeed here, Small Council, and there is much for us to discuss. The Brotherhood wish to help us deal with the threats of the Wasteland, particularly the savages that life there. There are plenty of good and noble folk there, such as these before you, but there are also monsters and robots, and mutants and..."

"Enough, you've clearly seen many things and need some rest, Lord Kevan. Your friends we will deal with ourselves. I see you have several commanders and their guards from the expedition here too. I can't say I'm unhappy you didn't bring the Mountain or Hoat here with you, but is it really safe to allow the expedition's leaders away from the fight?" The bigger brother was cynical of what the Brotherhood could achieve, but he would learn soon.

About four dozen Brotherhood soldiers came behind him with the Westerlanders and such in tow, introducing their Capital friends to the Brotherhood. Danse came to shake hands with the two men whom he had earlier discussed with on introduction.

"Apologies," the younger brother dressed in green said with a charming smile. "I am Renly of House Baratheon, youngest sibling of King Robert, Lord of Storm's End and the Stormlands, and the Master of Laws. The man to my right is my older brother, Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and Master of the Ships. I see you people wish to help us in our ways of life. How exactly would that work?"

"Well, Renly is it? We as the Brotherhood are an organisation centuries old-"

"Most houses in Westeros are millennia old, that is not special." Stannis noted as they walked into the castle they call the 'Red Keep.'

"Maybe not, but our heritage is great." Danse continued with pride. "We were founded by Roger Maxson of the prewar government before the Great War that devastated our world. We vow to keep technology under limit and supervision so that we can never again fall victim to its negative consequences, under Roger's descendent, our great Elder Arthur Maxson. It is good for us to bring about limited forms of it to the people, but we cannot allow it to run amok, or else it will destroy your world as well."

Renly seemed intrigued. "You're definitely devoted to your cause, Danse, that I cannot fault. But you and your Elder surely need to experience the joys and beauty of our city, befor you come on and 'protect us' from the dangers of your technology. If those machines and your armour are such things, surely it would not be bad."

As they spoke they walked into a substantial sized hall of many rooms. This place was much bigger in the inside than it appeared from above, that was certain. He couldn't tell where this Renly was taking him though.

"Those are Brotherhood property, and are used with close supervision and control over them to ensure they save the people. In the wrong hands, they are very dangerous weapons, but under us, they can be used for good. Of course lesser technologies such as guns, medication, hygiene, satellites and radios are of course open to everyone naturally, but prewar military weapons, drugs and mutagenics are out of the question. They are just too dangerous."

Before Renly could answer that question, they found themselves in a huge hall with a table and in the centre of the room, a huge pile of metal, apparently made of swords. Danse and the other troopers were mystified by it.

"What is that thing there?" He asked.

"That is the Iron Throne, of which my Son in Law sits, built by the Targaryens who ruled Westeros before we came and drive them out." This man had a balding head but golden hair and whiskers. He was of a tall height, not quite Stannis' but nevertheless imposing and with a stern voice that even the Elder would have envied. You do not know me of course, but I am Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and the Westerlands. You took my brother back to the city, and I hope to discuss the matters he has written about. He mentioned beasts and 'guns' and other such things. I presume these are true?"

"Yes, indeed they are. What made Robert overthrow the Targaryens if they were the original founders of the throne?"

"Their leader was insane, his son was a fool and the realm needed better leadership. That's all you outsiders need to know. Now, is my brother present or not?" Even Danse felt intimidated by the man, but not as much as the others.

"Of course, Lord Tywin, he is merely in discussion with the other leaders. Our Elder shall come down to see you soon to conduct businesses with you and the council."

"I shall see if such things are of truth myself, but not under your command, Danse. But the others are indeed interested in meeting you and hearing about what you want to say."

He could see the remainder of the Small Council was here. One was a man clearly too old to work properly, who appeared like some kind of rat. Instantly, Danse could feel that something wasn't right about him. The others seemed less pathetic but didn't seem particularly the friendliest either. One was A short and thin man, with a goatee beard, black clothes with the sigil of some small bird and warm eyes, seeming a nice fellow, if somewhat shrewd. The other man was larger, both in height and girth and was bald, with robes instead of the normal Westerosi dress code. He must have come from another land originally, Danse could sense. The two were in the middle of some little discussion before Danse came over to greet them, for which they stopped.

"Ah, it is wonderful to see one of these Brotherhood of Steel newcomers in our fine city, with hopes to help us in our times of need." The bald man was quiet and well mannered, and so at least appeared friendly from what he could see. "My associates note that you are a powerful organisation who maintains peace and security in your war torn lands, certainly something we could use in our own when the time comes." _How does he know about us,_ Danse thought as he spoke to the man.

"My name is Varys, and I serve the Realm as the Master of Whispers, for the realm needs to be kept secure from the foes behind the closed doors. My colleague here would also wish to introduce himself to your organisation." He lifted a hand and pointed to the other thin man.

"I am Petyr of the house of Baelish, one of the smallest houses if I'm honest, but that shouldn't undermine our potentials shall it? Do your people have such emphasis on birthright to obtain things?"

"Certainly not, I earned my way up these ranks like the rest of us. We earn our way up to top positions. The Elder though is indeed the descendent of a great man, and his bloodline often holds sway over our leadership here. He may be young, but he has served as well throughout, protecting the wasteland from savages and mutations."

"And how old is your elder?" Varys seemed intrigued.

"Twenty, Lord Varys. Lord Baelish you too would be interested in hearing what we have to say, so I recommend you should be available here too." Danse, truth be told wasn't as eager for the destruction of the non-human races as the Elder, but saw pity and compassion for such people, despite being mistakes of science. Extermination didn't necessarily seem the best thing for such groups unless it had to be done.

"Do go on." The little Lord told the Paladin. Pycelle came closer to hear as well.

"Our current enemy is a threat not just to us, but to all of you as well. The Institute uses things that look like men, but are made of metal and machine, known as synths. They are quick, deadly and utterly without compassion or remorse- genuinely at least. They are abominations, even if some have developed minds like men and can be reasoned with. The others are used as slaves for many purposes, they can teleport whole armies across great distances instantly. One moment, nothing. Another and they're right behind you. That is the kind of threat we face. They could be something worse than the Great War that destroyed our world, and may yet destroy yours. We need to work together to make sure that doesn't happen."

The men seemed to have some look of puzzlement in their faces, but not nearly as much as he had expected. "You both seem like reasonable, well informed gentlemen, I am sure you will take my warning seriously, as it does not appear that Lord Tywin does. I have seen these threats personally and it is my duty to ensure that as human beings, you can accept this threat is real and go on to deal with it. Thank you for your time."

At this point Renly returned from the earlier conversation to see what was going on. "I see you fellows are getting on already. I wouldn't have thought your personalities were exactly compatible with one another, but perhaps I was wrong. Your elder is here and he would be interested in seeing some of our landmarks beneath the throne room. Would you care for a visit?"

"I would be honoured, Lord Renly. Could my new friends join me if you were ok with it?" Varys politely refused, stating something about needing to 'feed his little birds," though Baelish accepted the offer. The group joined the Elder and Renly lead them through the Red Keep.

Seeing the great elder in his almost regal position made Danse feel proud of who he was serving. The man was young, loyal and willing to do whatever he could to maintain the Brotherhood's ideals. Their technology and knowledge would help them conquer the dangers of this world and create genuine change.

"Everything under control, Paladin? The locals seem wary of us, but nevertheless can be negotiated with. That true with you as well?"

"Of course, sir. They seem quite friendly actually."

"Good, now we've got a journey to go on apparently. They want to show us the 'dragon skeletons'. Dragons? A mythical creature from times way before the war. I don't see how they're relevant if you ask me."

The young stag led them through the halls as gold cloaks looked and marvelled at the Brotherhood Knights. Looks of shock, fear and excitement could clearly be seen beneath their helmets. Renly led them down the stairs towards the Drawbridge.

"This is Maegor's Holdfast, where my brother and his queen life in their spare time. As you can see, it's a castle within a castle effectively, and not q normal way of designing such a building, but it's certainly very safe and secure, that's for sure. Our Kingsguard wouldn't dare let you through for a tour though, so shall we move on to the next part of the Keep?" There was no choice here in reality, Danse could note.

After a relatively boring look at the Tower of the Hand, they saw the area the locals called the Maidenvault.

"if you wish to be guests here for diplomacy, you are more than welcome to stay here."

"Why is it called the Maidenvault?" Proctor Ingram asked.

Renly clearly had some form of satisfaction informing the Wastelanders of all these things they didn't know. "It was where Baelor Targeryen imprisoned his sisters to make sure he wouldn't tempted by them, very unusual for his family."

"You mean his family were engaging in incest?" Initiate Clark felt disgusted from what Danse could see.

"Targaryens, as the last survivors of the Freehold of Valyria, obsessed over 'keeping the bloodline pure' with all the fun that involves. Back before my brother overthrew them, they even had dragons, whose extinction truly marked the beginning of their downfall. Wish to see the skulls?"

He saw to his right the Elder and Captain Kells saying something, with Maxson being dismissive while Kells tried to keep things under control.

When they entered the room of the dragon skulls, they were amazed. "These were real creatures!" Danse marvelled at the bones of giant reptiles. Even deathclaws looked pathetic compared to the skulls of these monsters.

Ingram was curious and sarcastic at once. "Don't tell me, these things flew, breathed fire and could be tamed, right? Haha."

"Indeed they could." Varys said with enthusiasm. And the Targaryens used them with great prejudice. Perhaps they'd still be hear on the throne if they had lived." Danse could see from that statement that Varys missed their days in some way or another.

"Look at this one!" An initiate said with child-like glee as they saw a ten to eleven foot upper jaw with teeth and horns like knives or even small swords.

"That was Meleys, the huge she-dragon Queen Rhaenyra rode during the Dance of the Drafons, a huge Targaryen civil war, in which they lost most of their dragons, with the remainder too inbred to function properly." The young Stag seemed well versed in his history, that was true.

"But not the largest of all," Baelish noted.

"Indeed, I'm afraid that honour belongs to Balerion the Black Dread, as he pointed to a darkened shadow of a giant. The Knights turned on their flashlights and aimed to see, much to te surprise of the Westerosi.

The skull was truly colossal, bigger even than the Vertibird that had taken him! Its horns and teeth were similarly huge, even by the standards of a beast that large. This thing could rip apart a deathclaw like a behemoth could rip apart a mole rat, he thought. After several minutes of looking, Renly called them back up to see the remainder of the castle proper, while rumours of the dungeons were occasionally mentioned by both native and newcomer. Danse didn't want to know what was going on down there.

As they came to the surface, he could see Kevan and Tywin whispering and discussing some private matter, probably to do with the Brothehood and the other residents of Boston. Danse hoped to be able to intervene in the conversation, but duty called him elsewhere. A hand appeared on his shoulder.

"I would be fascinated to hear more about your history and whereabouts." It was Varys once more. "I am sure your technology and knowledge of the Institute would be of great use for the realm to informed. After all, while it may look stable now, at the seams, the Stag is a cripple from within. Whatever way you look at it, war is coming, and we'll need your help or anyone else who can offer."

"I'd be fine to help. What do you need to know?"

The two started discussing many things about their organisations history as they moved down the hall. A blond youth rushed up the hall past them shouting "Lord Tywin, a message from the King!" It must have been important, but this was none of his business. Once he would finish talking with the bald man, he would return to his desk and hear The Elder's next plans.

"I'm not finished yet here, Lord Varys, but I think the kingdom will certainly use any help the Brotherhood can give. After all, you'll need it."


	13. The Kraken's Daughter

The journey to Arcadia had been long and intense, with hours of walking, something Ironborn reavers were not used to, for they were a people of the seas. As Asha travelled with Victarion and this man named 'Longfellow', they had seen the true scale of the island, littered with the ruins of a long lost people before this 'Great War' had ruined everything. She saw the ruins of a place called 'Mount Desert', which had once been a settlement full of people, but was now full of monsters.

Across the journey, they had fought the familiar sight of wolves and bears, things they were used to in Westeros, though some of them were glowing green with this radiation the locals feared, or had bald patches. The other creatures were not so easy to deal with. Several men had come with them at first, but one had foolishly tried to pick flowers from the river, only to find they were actually the monstrous anglers, similar to the ones that attacked the town. Even the sharpest swords struggled to penetrate their thick, scaly hide, with their main weaknesses being their soft underbelly. Her harpoon gun had repelled them, but by then her men were either dead or had deserted. She would take the time to hunt them down later.

The gulpers could be quite frightening when they wanted to be, but as long as you were quiet and avoided their sleeping, they rarely needed to be dealt with. Ghouls, or 'degenerates' as Victarion insisted on calling them tended to stay their distance unless threatened. Hairless rabbits and featherless chickens provided easy meals during camping, and their hides kept the fires warm at night. What were easily the scariest of them all though were the mysterious Fog Crawlers. Asha had only seen one on the way here, and from a distance, but it seemed a truly ominous creature even Victarion shuddered at, and from instinct alone, she knew that an attack would be a bad idea. The old man made sure they stayed out of the sight range of the creatures, for they had exceptionally powerful eyes. Old Longfellow was certainly proving to be a decent guide. So far at least.

"You enjoyed your journey here?" The man said.

"There's been more leasurely journeys, I must say." Her trips to the Summer Isles were certainly that. "But none quite so strange or memorable as this. Even reaving in Sothyros didn't show me such strange occurances as here!" It was clear he had no idea what she was speaking of, or if he knew what she meant by reaving. He turned to her uncle, expecting an answer from him too.

"It better be worth what's there to...see." She knew from the look in his eyes he meant to say loot, but Longfellow seemed oblivious.

"It's only a few hundred yards now before you get there. I can see the telescope already." It was true that between the trees, a structure of silver metal stood out between, like some fortress.

"What's this telescope you speak of?" Her Nuncle had always been a bit dim, though she admitted that she was also unfamiliar with such a device, at least with regards to her knowledge.

"It was once used to monitor the stars and planets in the sky in incredible detail not possible with the naked eye or smaller telescopes, and sometimes they still use it for that. But now it served as a fortress for the local synths, who mainly want to be left alone by the townspeople and by the Children."

"Children? How could children be a thr-" Her uncle started, but she had to spare him the indignity.

"Children of Atom. As in the sect that worships radiation that live here."

Longfellow continued. "Their leader, DiMA has always wished to maintain peace this far, and would definitely be interested in seeing if you 'Ironborn' can be persuaded in such a way." Once again, Longfellow seems to have known the area for a while. Perhaps he had traded here at first to get to know the locals?

Asha asked now. "Is this Deema the synth leader? How much have you encountered these people?"

"They're not really people as you know them. By that I mean that they're not flesh and blood like you or I, just extended machines unlike what you may know from what you saw in Far Harbour. Built to resemble humans in most ways and yet be superior too. They don't age like humans, or get diseases, nor do they really need to eat or drink, and can go without recharging for weeks if need be. One of the doctors there is one, but he's not that open about it. These ones are much more...distinct. For your questions, yes, DiMA does indeed lead them and I have encountered him a few times, though I tend to trade more rather than investigate the finer details there. I believe that's what he wants you to participate in in this case."

"It is ridiculous to accept the demands of someone who doesn't even have the balls to come face us." Victarion was clearly dissapointed with the diplomatic option. "If he has anything we need, we should not hesitate to take it the way of a true Ironborn!"

She rolled her eyes. _This is certainly not how we wish to appear._ "Don't be ridiculous, uncle. The price has never been that good a tool- it got our ancestors killed so many times. I love father as much as or more than you do, but his insistence on following the 'Old Way' beyond all else is going to be dangerous for us as a House and as a people, that I know. Besides, we could find many uses of trade and diplomacy here."

"We'll see." The big man she'd seen as a loyal uncle relented for now. They both respected her father, she knew that, but besides that their goals were diverging more and more.

After a few more moments of walking in silence, Longfellow finally belted out.

"Here we are, the state of Arcadia. I'll wait outside for now, but you're more than welcome to call me up whenever you need me. I'll mark my location on your map." And that he did by putting a red marker on the map of the island Victarion had extracted during his first raiding in the south coast.

"Aren't you coming in with us to introduce us to your friend?" Victarion questioned, as he plucked and crushed a fly that had landed in his hair.

"I gotta do things back at the cabin, and sort out that town. Settlements definitely need my help nearby anyway. I'm sure you guys know how to handle yourselves. You did well out there, especially for real first timers, who haven't even seen the wastelands, never mind this one. You're warriors, and I can respect that. Good luck!" And he was off on his way.

"Well, it's up to us now, Nuncle." Asha went towards the door and knocked. Soon, she was greeted by a man with an unusual look in his eyes, appearing almost yellow. He only opened the door enough to show his face and the barrel of a gun.

"Are you here as a synth to seek refuge from human persecution, or are you a human wishing to trade? Or are you one of those who wishes to see us destroyed?" He did not look the type for happy negotiations.

"None of those things. We're Ironborn of House Greyjoy, having come over from the Iron Islands." Asha could see bewilderment on the man's face. "Much has changed in recent times. The mainland you know is gone now. We wish to see this 'Deema' your people speak of. Longfellow came here and lead us out, so-"

"That's fine! Longfellow's a good friend of ours, and if you're his friend, you're ours. Be sure though, cause not everyone here would agree with that." He opened the door fully and was intrigued by what the Greyjoys were wearing. "That stuff you have looks medieval! Except for the harpoon gun-" for they had bought one while in the town, "- you'd be mistaken for being Vikings! Incredible!"

Victarion started. "I don't know what you're talking about, we are Ironborn of the House of Greyjoy! The lords and rulers of the Iron Islands! Your island is now in our territory, so your people shall submit to our rule!" Asha was agitated on how this was turning out.

"Sorry, my uncle isn't used to your customs much. I hope our visit can be respectful for now. My other soldiers are in Far Harbour, reinforcing things and hunting. I think one of my Uncle's men has gone around fixing the 'generators' and another is investigating criminal reports. Overall, it's been an interesting journey for our people."

"Whatever, you can come on in. The name's Cog by the way. I hope you enjoy the stay." He opened the door for them and closed it behind them. The layout of the place was fascinating. The halls were grey and Windows indoors were transparent and colourless, which is unusual by her standards. Various glowing things could be seen in the rooms, with green and luminous black colours seen. By far the most interesting though was the sight of the 'telescope to their front. It had been modified greatly and was surrounded in many blue glowing screens, generating many images indicating modifications in the skies. Comparisons were being run on them between the old and new ones, trying in vain to connect to some 'satellites'. Perhaps these synths had made their own changes as well?

As they walked down the hall, their confusion continued to grow as people in normal positions got up and stared at them with uniform senses of organisation.

"Perhaps they aren't human after all." Victarion whispered. "If that's so, the normal rules do not apply. There's nothing stopping me from smiting them here and now. I certainly wouldn't mind doing that to these strange beings if they keep staring a second longer."

"No, uncle. We're here to conduct diplomacy and find out more about these..." She stopped at the sight of the being in front of her.

It had grey skin. Not skin, metal playing covering its entire body like armour without limit. It's head was unnaturally thin and the face was like a parody of a mask, for it showed no emotion except for glowing blue eyes, like the myths about the Others. Out of its back came many blue tubes, and it appeared to have been connected in some way to the screens all around them. It's limbs were spindly and underneath the steel, Asha could only see plastics and more steel. Nothing human at all. None of her journeys to the east and encounters with the strange peoples there could have prepared her for this. It started to speak.

"Greetings, newcomers. My name is DiMA. I am the leader of the synth colony on the island, a place where we synths can have refuge from persecution and superstition regarding our kind. I sense you come from the lands outside the island, and after the Shift that led our worlds to align."

"How do you know so much about us already, and how this came about?" Asha asked.

"When the Shift occurred, I could see the stars were changing in their alignment, as were the physical signs of your universe. That's right, we are not just from another planet, but another universe entirely. Some unknown intelligence merged parts of my world into yours, and perhaps vice versa in some alternate world. What were once two worlds are now one. As for you specifically, I have informants in Far Harbour, and have links elsewhere in the island. Subtle, but nevertheless present."

Victarion squared up the synth, with his grey skin and blue glow, and snapped back at the thing. "Don't dare spy on us. What we do is none of your concern, machine! You cease activity, or by the Drowned God, you'll pay!"

"I can't do that. My intervention on this island is the only thing preventing it from war. I've removed many bad things from this island to prevent their use for malevolent reasons, for I cannot afford for that information to be extracted, or else people will die. I don't want to start a war with either Far Harbour or the Children of the Atom, nor do we wish one with your people. What you're hear to do is find out about us, and we would also like to find out about you. We have jobs that you can carry out which would be useful."

A woman who was behind them but had been watching the whole time spoke. "DiMA, is it really a good idea to give complete strangers such important positions in our society and send them on our missions? They don't even know what computers and machines really are! How do you expect them to fix fog-generators or fertilise crops?"

Victarion quipped in "she has a point, you know."

DiMA relented. "You may be new to us, and with limited technological fluency, but that does not mean you are useless by any means. In fact, your lack of bias with regards to our current affairs may indeed prove of use to us. You can conduct diplomacy and help us know what is going on with the rest of the islands. You have military forces to, is that correct? If so, you can secure the island for your people and being unity to us if necessary. Your usefulness here cannot be overstated. One of my associates, a synth called Kasumi, would be interested in contacting you over some matter. I suggest you meet her to see how you can help out."

"What does the girl need exactly?" Asha asked.

"Something about her parents looking for her- that kind of thing, you know. They're not convinced she's a synth of some kind, but she is. A conflicted ideology for sure. She also claims to have information on aspects somewhere on the island, though I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to know what those could mean. Good luck, as I need to recharge again. I'm sure we'll meet again." He sat into his chair and 'plugged' himself into the wires and plastic strings, linking himself up with the telescope and metal boxes. He seemed to fall asleep.

Victarion was certainly impatient now. "I can send my men in to deal with this situation if necessary. This talking is boring, and I will not be sent as some petty errand boy on their missions to collect goods and the odd weapon. I am Victarion Greyjoy and I will not be tested by machines! If I wish to die, it is in battle by another man's sword, not in some closet looking for trinkets."

"Victarion, that is ridiculous! We've already taken from settlements around the coasts, we've even got people to convert to the Drowned God. These people are not like the savage trappers or raiders. They're not even real human, just another kind of person."

"Exactly. There should be no qualm with disposing of them."

"I can hear you, you know." The woman behind them was still there.

"Please forgive me, my uncle is very suspicious of new cultures and concepts, he-"

"I can see that, Greyjoys. My name is Chase. I used to be an Institute Courser before DiMA showed me a better way of life; one to love my fellow synths and help humans understand we are people too. I know what it's like to be an outsider and to face scorn, as well as to abuse those around me. Your uncle seems insecure in some way. He is acting aggressively because he senses that these situations are beyond him, and he compensated for this by acting as though they are beneath him. Taking up aggressive behaviour to compensate for internal conflict. I sense he would wish to fight me and put me in my place-even though as a courser, I could dominate even the toughest human in combat. Again, this is something I can understand, at least on a basic level. Don't be disheartened, Victarion, this is quite normal even for warriors like yourself."

He relented from his anger and calmed down at a rate Asha had never seen before. "It's true. I always felt out of depth when faced with my older brothers, and now it's worse in this situation, with all these new things ahead of me. I don't wish it to conquer and undermine me though. I can't let it."

"And it won't." Chase said plainly. "Just allow us to cooperate and you can gain the most out of it. If you grant us synths equality within your nation, we'll be happy. I presume your nation is a kingdom right, given your emphasis on family names?"

"Indeed." Asha replied. "It is not out kingdom anymore, regrettably, we have had our hopes of independence and our way of life crushed by a far larger foreign power, but one day we will escape and be free again to rule the oceans. I know it."

"And you think we don't have the same fears of you and losing our ways of life?" She definitely had a point this time. "Your people appear to not be the nicest to civilians, especially those who pay tribute to you. Our peoples, synth or human fight back far more and more effectively than any peasants in your lands clearly do. We synths don't age or have disease or radiation like you humans do either, so we can play the long game if we have to. Don't underestimate us."

"We won't, Chase. In fact, I'm interested in what you people can bring to us. Your weapons, armour and medication could do amazing things to our people. I'm sure the Smallfolk would love having someone or something to protect themselves with, and with your people's ideas of 'democracy', I can see our isles truly prosper. It's certainly time our way of life needed to change."

Vic wasn't as happy now. "We can't change our way of life, Asha. We've done it for thousands of years, even before the Targaryens took our independence. These technologies may enhance our power, but we should use them in traditional ways, and definitely keep it away from the Smallfolk, or else we would all be done for!"

"I thought you would stand behind me with this, uncle! We need to make changes when the inevitable happens. We can't let our people fall into such disrepair. The mainlanders are having their own access to new tools and creatures, we need to catch up as well!"

"Very well." He retired to another room to relieve himself. Asha could now go looking for this Kasumi girl-synth.

As she made her way down the stairs, she saw some people having an argument. It would have to wait for now. She needed to find the girl.

As she hurried down, she ended up bumping into a synth dressed in black. "Hey watch where you're going!" She exclaimed to Asha. Asha shoved her again.

Her rage flared. "Don't toy yourself with an Ironborn, synth! I'm not one of those weak settlers, you know." Seeing a hurt look in the synths eyes, she changed her tone. "I'm sorry, that was my fault, you didn't deserve that. Do you happen to know, where Kasumi is around here?"

"Um, sure. She's down the next flight of stairs and at the far end working on... something. You're not the detectives her parents supposedly sent, are you?"

"No, I'm here to see what she says."

"Well then, hope they goes luck convincing her to get out of there."

Asha went down the next flight of stairs and saw the girl fixing some kind of large machine. It was clear the machine could move in its own like a living thing, but it needed the girl's help. She started to walk over. Until she heard her uncle rushing up behind her.

"What was that all about, Nuncle?" She asked.

"I found out things about Kasumi's state. I went to sleep in the desk behind this glass cabinet, in that locked off room. I bought a few lock picks and managed to get past it. I heard DiMA and the others talking."

"And?"

"He was talking about how his remaining memories are trapped in a place called the 'Nucleus' under the Children of Atom. He argued that if their leader was allowed to have such plans, the Island would be laid to waste, with our 'false god' being driven off as well! In order to extract the memories though, we'd need something of Faraday's computer. I have no idea how those computer devices hold them though. Perhaps we should smash them to pieces?"

"That wouldn't achieve anything, you know." Kasumi had been eavesdropping a bit on their conversation, even as quite as they tried to be. "They're not located behind some safe, they're data within the very fabric of these devices."

Asha turned to the girl. She was quite pretty in an exotic sense, and a reasonably young age like herself, if quite sheltered. "You must be Kasumi, then?"

"Indeed I am. I'd wondered what DiMA had in his head that was so secret, but I never knew it was that. I had a feeling he had something monstrous planned, but it seems he just wants to protect us from the dangers of his memories. I can extract the data from Faraday's computer is you want, or you can confront DiMA about it. Whatever way, you can find out about the information here anyway. I have...personal things to deal with as well, like who I am."

Asha was first to jump in line. "I can help you find out who you are. You see yourself as a synth, but wander of your old human form. I can't say I know what that's like, but I can help you at least get a better idea. Where are your parents exactly?"

"They're in Boston. But I don't know if Boston was taken too."

"It was, according to reports from the mainland. The journey back would be far longer, but I can still make it if that's what you want. You'll need to do some things for us first though. This island is in my father's territory, and so by law belongs to him. I will need representatives to allow your people to have some say in the new state of being, such as protecting you from being sacked or kidnapped and granting renegade synths equal status to humans. If the Institute tries to retake you, we will respond in kind. I think you would be excellent for such a thing; to show my father that you don't need to be human to be a loyal citizen. Then you can go home and see your family. You have my word. Now, can you fix the terminal to find the information and the 'programme'?"

"Of course, that shouldn't be too hard. It's a very tough lock though, so it should take a while. Could you guys watch me with this?" They both nodded.

As as she was working through the security, Victarion turned to Asha and whispered. "I'm not sure this route of collaboration is going to work out that well. I'm certainly suspicious-"

"I can hear you, you know." The woman said with a sense of laughter in her voice. He needed to stop doing this.

"Uncle, what is it you wish to do? Peace is the best, no, the only way we can get people like this to submit to Pyke. Anything else and they could be devastating. Their weapons, their armour, their knowledge excel greatly beyond ours. I'm sure you don't want to travel back to Pyke with me and Kasumi, so what do you wish to do?"

"I will use the data, travel to this 'Nucleus' and find what we need there. I also wish to see what the Children really have to say in the matter. I hope your quest goes well for you."

"And yours, Nuncle." A faint smile reached her lips, and while he didn't, he at least refrained from his normal scowl and gave a nod in return.

She turned back to Kasumi, who had a grin on her face and took a small cartridge and took it from the 'computer'. She handed it to Victarion and put it in the palm of his hand.

"What is this trinket?" He asked.

"Faraday's encryption code is on there. You'll need it to gain access to DiMA's memories." She was optimistic at least.

"How can so much be fit into such a tiny device?

"It's one of those mysteries of technology. Your people have so much to learn, and so much to benefit from. Good luck on your quest!"

The man huffed and was on his way. Presumably he would be on his way to the coast to recruit some of his forces for the journey.

"Well, it's just you and me now." Asha turned back to Kasumi. "What shall we do before we head off?"

"I need to pack all my things first. Is it alright if I bring some friends? No offense, but I only met you today, whereas I've known this people for...well, OK not that long. But you know what I mean right? Promise they'll be protected as much as me." She took out a hand.

"Very well, I promise." Asha took hers out and the deal was made via handshake. After looking at a detailed map of Far Harbour that Kasumi had, Asha waited with her before taking the others up the halls and informing DiMA of the decision.

"You have my blessing for now. But only if it helps bring peace to the island and those beyond it. If I have to, I'll make...replacements around here. Farewell." There were now about a dozen synths heading up.

As they went up the hallway and out the door, she saw some of her men were already arriving now to greet her. "Greeting, captain! Who are those with you?"

"They're runaway synths, metal beings made to resemble men and women, having broken from their creators, starting life anew. Some of them wish to bend the knee. They're coming with me."

"That's...certainly different, mi'lady." She could hardly say she was surprised by this reaction. "Never thought I'd see a non-human look so similar to us."

"Well, they certainly are. And they feel just like we do as well, so be respectful!" Asha demanded. The men went back into line.  
"What's our next mission?" One of the ship commanders asked before getting back into formation, holding the horses they travelled on at bay.

Asha looked back at Kasumi and grinned to her lieutenants. "We go for Pyke."


	14. Macready (II)

Well, actually, Summerhall might be better for Nuka World, as no one really occupies that area of land anymore. Anyway, here it comes (and yay I've broken 50k overall!)

 **Macready (II)**

Robert Macready was one the move once again, finding new opportunities for employment, new friends and foes and new equipments. He was helping the poor, being rewarded by the rich and keeping the Wasteland's beasts in check. He truly was living the American Dream! Or so he thought to himself.

The sun was already rising. It has been a long night. Not the longest night, but still, it would have been much better had he been able to sleep. Nick had already long gone to explore some new cases and make diplomatic ties with Hoster Tully, leaving him, Cait, Bronn and Chiggen to wander in search of contracts. With raiders spilling from around the Commonwealth and being recruited from Westerosi, they were becoming bigger threats than ever. And someone needed to take care of them. That's where he came in.

"Is it long, yet?" He asked his neighbour.

Chiggen grunted. "A few miles, but not much, thank the gods."

 _How talkative,_ Macready thought sarcastically. "What exactly was the job again? I don't remember what that bozo in Saltpans wanted." All he knew that it was something to do with some Wasteland critter attacking peasants or something.

"Not got a clue." The brute replied.

"I can hear you lovebirds talking." Macready turned around and saw Bronn with Cait under his left arm. He clearly was trying to impress her. "We've been sent to clear out first of all some of these 'mirelurks' that your kind are so familiar with. Shouldn't be too hard, right? They're just animals, like giant crabs or something?"

"Don't underestimate them." Macready had fought them many times in the past, including with Nathan Green. "Their armour can resist even shotgun and lesser grenade blasts, and their pincers are like torture devices. Only the face and legs are vulnerable, and even then, they're not exactly easy. Ranged weapons are probably best for this situation. I still need to teach you guys how to use guns."

"Guns, ya say?" Cait had clearly been drinking again. "These guys are shady and sly enough as it is, we need to give them our tech too?" She laughed.

"I'm right next to you, ya know." Bronn jaiped back.

"We're all friends here, so we'll share with each other as much as we can. I'm sure they'll need to learn if they want to survive with all the new dangers around. We would after all." Macready knew at least some friends were necessary, even if calling Bronn and Chiggen friends was certainly a stretch.

"Would you believe that King Robert tried to hit on me?" Cait blurted out. "To think that fat bastard would think he had a right to bed me just because he ruled some large continent? I call bullshit on that one. I'd have given him a black eye if his Kingsguard weren't watching." She definitely had a fighting spirit in her, that's for sure.

"Striking a King? That's a pretty risky move." Bronn didn't seem to be reviled by this though.

"Especially without pay." Chiggen chirped back.

Macready was was concerned about this kind of objection. "What would you guys not do for money?"

"Well, fight Gregor Clegane armed with a wooden stick? Or be a slave?" Chiggen snarkily replied. "Since you know, slaves by definition don't get paid."

Bronn did this time. "I wouldn't fuck a cow for money, or a Brahmin. At least I don't think I could."

"You two have some serious issues you know." Cait ticked in too. Macready could see a familiar threat though. Before she opened her mouth again, he made a gesture of the hand and whispered "everyone, get down now!" They did.

"What's the matter?" Bronn whispered. "Those mirelurks learned how to use guns too?" He jested.

"No," he replied. "It's the goddamn gunners!"

"The gunners?" Cait exclaimed-"shit. We're in for it now."

Chiggen questioned-"who the fuck are the gunners you speak of?" He was louder then the others, and so Bronn slapped the back of his head.

"My old friends, if you can call them that. Employers may be more accurate. They were willing to do things that I just couldn't do myself, and they weren't paying me anymore. I was only trying to look after my son, Duncan back at home in hopes of finding a cure for his condition, but things were just getting hard by this point. They didn't like me leaving, so they'll probably kill me the next time we meet. They're not hear though at least." They had never been good with him even when he was a member of them, so he didn't want to think about what they'd do to him now.

"Why are they called gunners, though?" Chiggen asked.

"Because they're damned good with guns! Or at least they have a lot of ammo and resources for them." Cait chipped in again.

Macready had an idea for how to get past them. "Bronn?"

"Yes?" The confused sellsword asked.

"You said you'd like to learn how to use a proper gun, right?"

"Yeah, I saw you use that pistol a lot and it seems easy. But what I really think would do the trick is that big one in your case."

"Exactly. Snipers have great range and can go for long distances as well as being powerful. A silencer, which I have here," he picked it out of his pocket-"- is a bonus to muffle sound. Want to go?"

"You've got me sold!" The sellsword replied. He picked up the rifle and sat down, instinctively looking through the scope.

"So it magnifies targets?"

"Indeed."

"How do you fire it?"

"You put your finger here, you aim, you pull the trigger when you want to fire.

He picked at one of the gunners who wasn't wearing a helmet. _Pop!_ The man dropped to the floor in a splatter of red and grey. The others were shocked and started frantically looking around, trying to find some source of the attack.

 _Pop!_

Another of them collapsed to the ground, though this one was in the hip. He screamed, but soon his heart was destroyed too.

"You're a natural at this, Bronn! It's kinda scary actually!" Cait exclaimed. Soon, she and and Macready came charging down the hill for battle.

"Here we go!" Macready cried as he grabbed out his pistol and fired at his treacherous former allies.

One ne of the leaders had a missile launcher though, and she fired it towards Robert's general direction. Definitely too risky. He dodged out of the way and was safe except for a little fire on his leg. Chiggen wasn't so lucky. He could see the powdered remnants of the man ahead of him. The gunner commander started to reload, but Cait got her first, starving a shiv into her neck and then snapping it just to be sure. Meanwhile, Bronn picked off another straggler as Robert got out his trusty pistol and aimed for the knee caps of the final member of the party. This was going to be for interrogation.

"I'm only going to ask nicely once. What are you doing here and why are you doing our job?" He asked with a relatively calm voice despite his rage.

"I...don't know." The gunner whimpered.

"Very well. We do this the hard way." He shot the other leg this time.

"I can do the rest of you like, which I'm not sure you will. Why are you here?"

"On orders from the plaza. Wanted us to collect 'taxes' and 'recruits' from the locals." He saw metal collars in the man's case.

"You wished to enslave people? How low are you willing to go here? You know this continent has illegalised slavery for thousands of years, right? If you're found, you're all dead sooner or later! Whether by them, or me!"

"Alright, we'll give up. Those primitives couldn't beat us though. Even with numbers!" He saw the man was reaching for his pistol.

"Oh no you don't!" Cait said as she grabbed out hers and shot him point blank in the temple.

"He'd have been of use alive!" Macready shouted with disgust.

"Would you rather he blown your brains out, and then mine? Grow up, Robert, there's better things to do than mourn the past!"

"We could have found out where he was going from there, who sent him, that kind of thing." Soon he noticed something in the dead man's pocket. A note. "It says to eradicate local settlements and collect crops, make room for business and form contracts with local lords for negotiation. Report to Vault 95 for further orders."

"I thought we were killing mirelurks?" Bronn came down. "That's certainly what I'm getting paid for at least."

"Aren't you a bit cold for someone who just lost their comrade in battle?"

"Chiggen? He always was a clumsy idiot. I can understand an explosive like that is dangerous, but even then, there's things you can do to avoid them. No, I certainly can't say I mourn the buggar, especially after that. It means more money for me when the jobs paid. He's not the first and he won't be the last. Hopefully you two aren't that clumsy, are you?"

"You wish!" Cait replied back. "We're used to people firing at us with guns and grenades and rockets, but we have wits to avoid them."

Macready wished he'd to talk this time. "You were good with that sniper, you sure that's your first time? You could have been a sharpshooter in another life!"

"What's one of those?" The sellsword asked.

"Someone who's job is to work with a sniper, take out targets many miles off and kill dozens of enemies without having to risk injury. It's a bit idealistic, but you'd get serious coin for that kind of thing."

"I like the sound of that. All I need is a lordship and a ton of your money and weapons and I'm set. Some land in the old world and some in your new one would be perfect if you ask me. If you're asking me, I think we can get each other places neither of us could before."

"How's that exactly?"

"You have connections in the Wasteland, I have them in Westeros. We could get the best of both worlds that way." He had a point. "Plus, with your lands in Ned Stark's North, they're bound to need to put someone as Lord of that region, you know, to keep things under control. With all that technology and blueprints to sell, we could be the richest men in the world! And woman of course. Even the Iron Bank would be jealous of us at this rate!"

"He definitely has a point, you know." Cait quipped. "I wish the combat zone had offered me something like that! Wait, if we could reignite it and set up our own combat zone, we could be rich as well."

"I like the way you're thinking, lady" Bronn replied back with that signature cheeky smile he had.

"Oh, I'm no lady, I'll show you that much." She grinned back at him. _Is this really the time for workplace romance,_ Robert thought as they walked towards where the mirelurks supposedly were.

"Well, they're supposedly around here." He said as they approached the stream. Some gunners and mirelurk corpses could be seen, but no signs of victory either way. At least as far as they could tell. Macready slid down a rock face and went towards the stream. Suddenly, behind him some hatchlings were crawling around.

"Ugh" he said as he stomped them with his boots or shot ten with his pistol. The others came down and joined in with it.

"Here we go!" Bronn exclaimed as something else popped up out of the water.

"Shit! It's a mirelurk queen! Run!" Maccready cried as the beast emerged with guards at its sides, killclaws and razorclaws to be precise. An ambush!

The thing was gigantic even by queen standards. Perhaps the lack of radiation and abundance of fish and fauna had allowed them to grow more.

The thing must have been about fifteen, perhaps even sixteen feet tall, rivalling your average behemoth, while much bulkier in frame, and with several guardians at its side. It was already preparing to spit, he could see.

"Well, it's been good knowing you! And thanks for the rifle!" Bronn said as he started running up hill.

"What the bloody hell are ya doin'?" Cait cried back after him.

"You honestly think I'm going to fight that thing? It's huge!"

Macready knew these kind of disloyal assholes, and how to deal with them.

"Think of the contract. They offered us a fair amount of gold to kill some small mirelurks. Think of how much they'll pay us for stopping one of these queens that make em! All that meat could feed villages for weeks, and would make killing a bear or boar look like child's play! We'd definitely be famous then!"

"The gods damn you, Robert Macready!" The sellsword turned round with his sniper and aimed for its small head. Bam!

The beast curled back in pain and unleashed hatchlings from its abdomen, which started crawling towards them along with their older siblings.

A killclaw came at him from the side. He got out a shotgun to blast it in the face, but it's claws blocked as it swooped into try and stab him. He only narrowly dodged the insectile thing, and responded with a machete in its face, with it collapsing soon afterwards. He turned to Cait.

She was preparing to get out some mines. _Why didn't I think of that! Damn it,_ he thought. A few well placed mines didn't kill the beasts, but did cripple them. Meanwhile, the queen was getting into shore, even if one of its eyes was taken out, as it was spitting acid everywhere, particularly at Bronn and some other figures.

Even with their legs crippled, they were still dangerous to go against due to their pincers and so, it wasn't worth the risk to just go in with a knife. Pistols or shotguns were still necessary to fend the buggars off and kill them. Mirelurk meat was an excellent commodity even in the wasteland, so the Westerosi would certainly find them very useful too. The prize for this much meat would surely be great.

"How's the shooting coming along, Bronn? That thing's still standing!"

"You try doing this! You're the one who knows how these things work! I've run out of ammo! Now what?"

"Put in a new cartridge damn it! It's in your pocket. That'll fill you with new rounds. Aim for the head!"

"That's exactly what I'm doing. Dodging the acid makes it a hell of a lot harder though."

"Who are the peasants exactly?"

"Oh them? Some villagers came and wanted to help. They can try for all I care!"

"They'll die!"

"And?"

"Do you want to get paid or not? Witnesses are pretty essential for this. And besides, I'm not a fan of dead civilians myself! Get them away from the fight!"

"Alright, alright." The sellsword quipped. "Alright, get away from the beast, let us handle this!" The Smallfolk soon got out of the way when they saw the size and durability of the armoured beast.

The queen launched an attack at a peasant that was too close. The pincer grabbed their neck and the man's neck was cut right through, leading a headless corpse landing on the ground. The remainder screamed and ran out. A blast took off that arm and the creature shelled. Cait had gotten out a rail gun that cut through even armour like nothing. She smiled and shot another round into one of its legs, crippling it. This at least slowed down the monster before its next move. Slowed down dramatically, it would be easy pickings now. A hale of gunfire began from another source.

Some minutemen had arrived at the scene now, along with some unfamiliar faces, some local recruits perhaps? They began firing on the mirelurks in places where the main group couldn't. Bronn got out his sword and started cutting through hatchlings and spawn. The queen was now finally starting to shift in its position and collapse on one side. Now was his chance. He got out a gauss rifle he only used as a last resort. This one was just taking too long.

"Chow down on this, you overgrown shrimp!" He cried out as he let loose a gauss rifle round set to overcharged. One blast smashed part of the beast's head with ease. It cried back and staggered. Another fully charged shot made the head explode altogether. It was finally dead.

"Congratulations guys, you all did it! Through teamwork!" Macready congratulated all involved.

"With monsters like that roaming your lands, how the fuck does anyone survive out there?" Bronn wiped sweat off his brow and crunched into a dead mirelurk hatchling. "Not bad at all, needs some salt, though."

Macready was happy with how this had turned out. Sure a peasant had died, but they were a stupid one with no training, and the death toll was far less than he had expected, to say even of the battle with the gunners before. That reminded him- "The dead gunners will also fetch a price here. You can keep whatever weapons you find here, as I'll probably only need to stack up on ammo."

Bronn called dibs on the missile launcher and the caravan shotgun, while some of the peasants collects some rifles and bottlecaps, curiously investigating the alien currency. The Minutemen came down to greet them.

"It's good to see you again, Macready. You won't know me, but I've seen you a few times back in the Commonwealth, including before all this. We found locals who have similar beliefs to ours, who want to protect the peasants and be like Robin Hood, some Kingswood Brotherhood or something. I guess they thought we were more efficient than what they had or something. God knows that they can use this help with all these horrors around. We didn't want them getting involved in this kind of thing. And we aren't the only Wastelanders recruiting Weaterosi in our ranks. You know the Forged are growing like fire now? Even adopted some foreign fire God or something. Would you like to join?"

Macready saw merit in ther system, but this wasn't for him. He needed the money, not the protection. "I appreciate what you guys are doing, but I'm afraid I don't belong to organisations unless you pay me to. Thanks for the offer though."

"Very well, Macready. See you around. Congratulations on the kill, by the way." He went on his way.

"Wait, I never got your name." Robert at least thought it was courtesy.

"James Dean. Named after some old pre-war icon somewhere. Goodbye, mercs." The Minutemen went off now.

Macready turned back to his allies. "Now, there's the challenge of getting all this back to Saltpans as evidence, including the gunners' equipment we don't want. This could be fascinating in results. I heard dozens of settlers from the wastes are moving there now too. That should allow the village to become a town. We need help taking all this back after all."

After a couple of hours of loading dead mirelurks and gunner equipment to Saltpans, the local lords came to see the bountiful harvest. Lords Harwick and Cox came out and marvelled at the sheer quantity of bounty that had been gained from the harvesting, which was clearly much more than they had anticipated. They came and shook hands with Macready and Bronn.

"We thought it was only about seven mirelurks nearby, yet I see over a dozen adults and hatchlings and eggs. And the weapons will be of great use. You deserve much more money than I thought," Lord Cox stated. "Wait, what is that?" He pointed with a pale face.

Macready turned round and saw the colossus that was the Queen, being taken in pieces by volunteering Minutemen and Smallfolk along with the guards.

"Oh that? That was their queen of sorts. Like with an ant colony. We managed to kill it through our combined efforts, though it wasn't easy. One of these could have threatened the entire region without our help." He felt the need to brag, for certain. "Mirelurk meat is very nutritious you know, and it gives you a 'Rush' of sorts after eating it too. I'd recommend you make a delicacy out of it. If it's tasty and healthy, I'm sure you people would greatly benefit from farming them. You still have some eggs after all. Your Lieges should also find out about this, as it would be of benefit to them too. It'd make your towns rich, for sure."

"Well, Saltpans and our neighbours were denied the right to become towns and cities long ago by conditions from our Lieges. Perhaps this would allow us to determine our own path now. Thank you, Wastelanders. You will surely get much money for this, that is for sure. Lands, money, women, crops. You may even get your own castles built for you if Lord Tully accepts."

"Well," Bronn started. "-This is a pretty lucky day for us so far. I'd take advantage of this. Your advice was useful after all. It was good to stay." He smiled and gave Robert a pat on the shoulder.

"Cheers, pal. I told you my instincts were right. I'm used to these monsters, but these guys aren't. That's what gives us an edge."

Cait came to them after taking a mirelurk arm to the meat pile. "Well, what do you know? You two taking all the credit. No surprise there. I had an equal role in taking them down, you know, Milord!"

"A lady fighting is such an unusual sight in this land. We don't see you normally being so...aggressive on the battlefield." The balding, slightly chubby Lord Harwick was clearly quite old fashioned.

"I'll have you know I'm no Lady, Lords. And I do know how to fight, thank you very much. I was in an arena before all this, ya know! Gun, hand to hand, melee, you name it. So don't talk like that to me." She was getting cocky too, but not in the way Macready hoped.

"What she's trying to say," Bronn inserted-"- is that women in our society are under appreciated and that they deserve a more equal position like in hers. She's just as happy as the rest of us to serve." He certainly was diplomatically savvy, that had to be said.

Lord Cox started. "Such a fine and feisty woman is certainly a rarity in this land. If these men haven't taken your hand already, might I propose raising you to nobility to be my wife?"

"To someone you've only just met? I've done many crazy things in my life, but I'm afraid that's a step too far. Maybe if you get me a drink or a few tonight, I might think differently." _How classy._

"There shall indeed be a great feast for you fine folks, made of both our native foods here and your new mirelurks. It shall be glorious!" Both lords seemed happy with this.

"We also got some Wasteland cuisine, but it's not really ther stuff for feasts I suppose. Maybe the Smallfolk could have some spares?"

"I'll see right to it!" Lord Cox went off. "The whole of the Trident shall know your names!" He shouted as he went off, leaving Lord Harwick with them.

"Your stay here is always welcome, we will always be grateful for your intervention."

"Good to know", Bronn interjected. "A few beers would be a great reward after today, I'd say."

"Agreed!", said everyone present. Macready had a smile on his face.

 _If only those Gunner assholes could see me now,_ he thought as he went down to the rooms prepared to him.


	15. Sturges (I)

Greywater Watch was certainly a different idea of a castle to what he imagined in all those fairy tails and history books. One surrounded not by a simple moat and drawbridge, but by acres of swamps, peat bogs, tar pits and predator infested rivers. These natural moats had in the past made it secure, yet now it was becoming problematic as migrants from the north changed everything just as they had before.

The wasteland fauna was now mixing with native beasts such as 'lizard lions' or alligators as Sturges remembered them. He wondered if somewhere in te old United States, alligators or some misshapen descendant of them still dwelt. There were certainly days where he wished he was back in the United States.

The birds were mostly the same, though far more common and diverse in form, typical of swamp fauna. But then there was that creepy mutant bird that seemed to scout around here. A crow with a third eye, something he hadn't seen in the Wasteland. Perhaps the influence of radiation was more prolific than he thought. Or maybe this 'Westeros' had their own strange creatures to deal with?

With this in mind, many beasts he was familiar continued to be a threat, as with many ecosystems of old, according to the books he had read on the topic, invasive species become prolific quickly, becoming larger and more fearless than their old predecessors. Mirelurks in particular were very difficult for people with medieval tech to deal with, and so the Minutemen were always appreciated around here. Action would certainly need to be taken to preserve the military strength of the North if such dangerous creatures were new to them.

As he patrolled the decks, he noticed a butchered mirelurk carcass being dragged to shore by Reed bannermen. A sign of adaption and cooperation was not to be taken lightly here. The walls were thick and well guarded, and could shrug off any mammals weapons that the medieval people's had here. But it was not designed with mirelurk queens and raiders with grenades in mind. So, with resources, new materials were built to make these walls even more impressive. The Crannogmen were a tough people from what he had seen, and Sturges was helping them become even tougher.

"Well, 'milord', there's definitely been a drop in mirelurk attacks since we installed your watchtowers and the turret. I've also been working on something for my friend, the General, but you don't need to concern yourself over that. After all, mirelurks, deathclaws, ghouls and hounds aren't the only threats around here that need to be taken into account." He felt that was a mouthful already, but he knew the Lord needed to hear such information. And it was true the Institute was so close to these lands.

"You've been a great help for us Crannogmen; our gratitude cannot be stated enough." Howland Reed was a bristly man, if of an unusually short height. He was no medical dwarf though, just thin in frame. But if his daughter was right, he had been a very skilful fighter in his youth, particularly with a dagger or a bow and arrow. "Have you received word from my old friend, Ned yet? I fear in these times, things may become more and more strange and dangerous, and old men like me will be left behind."

Sturges responded with flattery. "You're hardly old, Lord Howland, man. Even where we come from, many people of your age and above are doing just fine. As for your question, well, from what I've heard, Ned is ok, not being murdered by raiders or by those creepy royals. Sanctuary and the Castle are also pretty secure. The kingdom is at risk though. Reports from our General say that one of his main guards was killed, the heir to one of the most powerful lords of the continent, and that Ned's son has gone missing thanks to one of our own allies. Things are very tense there." Sturges had seldom interacted with Strong, but the beasts hungry eyes did nothing to stave his fear of the green supermutants. Sturges never felt it would be Strong to lash out though.

"Dark times indeed. I imagine the stresses are taking their toll on Ned now. And how is Jon?" The Crannogman asked.

Sturges had heard little about this 'Jon Snow' besides him being the love-child of Lord Ned and being somewhere in Winterfell. "He's now decided to join the Minutemen instead of the Nights Watch, meaning he doesn't have to be celibate and all that. Good for him. But to make up for it, some of our settlers and spares have offered to join to help the realm. We may even have one or two of our 'Vertibirds' to help them scout there. So I'd say the boy's ok for now, and the realm's in no short supply of defenders."

"Good. Whatever happens, you tell me of the welfare of that child. His father would want no less." The Crannogman signed as he looked out into his native swamp. "Now, you've been hard at work today, what can be compensate you with?"

"A beer would be nice, milord." All these smallfolk customs and feudal traditions weren't exactly clinging to Sturges' mind. "How are the fortifications holding up? Any strangers been around the ways?"

"Not this time, most are ignorant of us and just go through the longer Moat Cailin route, like the other Northerners. Some are using even longer ones since you folk and your monsters arrived. Like sailing around the Neck. I've heard stories of your people having boats that run and row themselves, as if they were people, made of metal and capable of being huge when they can. Are these stories true?"

"Indeed, them and many more. Technology's been a huge thing for us, you see. Machines allowed us to conquer land, sea and sky to extends we never could have without them. You could discover new lands yourself with our tech. Ever wondered what's west of Westeros or east of Essos, or even what Sothyros and Ulthyros really hold? Perhaps we'll soon know. Imagine all that could be found!"

"Perhaps, but there are more important matters at this point to attend to." He was speaking of some attacks by raiders and super mutants to his northern settlements. The errand boy had mentioned it a few days earlier.

"We can see to such matters, sure. Where are the kids?" He hadn't seen them in several days, which was unusual for them

"With their mothers in the barns, along with the other animals and their offspring. A good harvest this year. Better than last, but alas winter is coming, as those Stark's say."

"Oh, I meant your children. Sorry, kid is a colloquial term where I'm from for children. No offense meant, Howland, my man. To you or the children"

"None taken, Sturges. They are scouting out and discovering things about the Old Gods, for magic is growing in the world and there is much to know." He noticed the surprise on Sturges' face from this statement. Sturges thought to himself _magic? That can't be right!_

Howland noted this. "Yes, indeed. They have been gifted with the powers of dreams, and they have a major part to play in the wars to come, as do many who would not suspect it. But that is another time. Now, can you show me how this generator is going to work? You say it moves things from one place to another instantly. I wish to see it!"

They walked down the way from the castle into the courtyard, where the constructions were now done. The transporter that would take Nathan to the Institute was now ready with the resources the Minutemen had gathered, though theoretically someone else could be used to transport such gear across great distances if the coordinates were correctly set. Perhaps they should send coordinates north of this Wall to make contact with natives there? Or conduct efficient trade with the Free Cities? There were so many possibilities now, but the original aim would be the one they needed to pursue most. The others could wait.

"Greetings, sir!" A Minutewoman was the first to answer him as he arrived there. Her skin was coffee coloured and her hair jet black, with her scars noting she certainly had a story to tell. "Since the generators are complete and the turrets are ready to face off any mirelurk assaults now, what should be our next move? I hear that Howland's children are returning anytime soon, so perhaps we should celebrate their arrival back here and inform them of the situation?"

"Good idea, private Beckworth, we've got the teleportation ready, but Nathan is far off and we haven't heard from him in days, so it's problematic at the moment. Signal up here is pretty terrible, frankly. Cut down some trees to form some mountable tree houses for scouts, as well as wood for campfires. Is Curie anywhere to be found?"

"'Fraid not, sir. She seems to have gone north with a well equipped expedition around the Wall, to a place called 'Frostfangs' in order to extend their help of the locals."

"They went to help out the wildlings? And she went along with them? What the hell were they all thinking? They're little better than raiders from what we've heard about them. Maybe we're wrong and they're just like Wastelanders, but even then it's a huge risk. We don't know what else could be up there. And how will the southern lords react? But oh well, we can just make use of what's happening now."

Beckworth gave the salute. "It's hard, sir, but we'll make it through. Best of wishes." And she went back to duty. Sturges sighed and went back to his.

He turned and saw some of the local Crannogmen bickering over some logs that were being transported over the distances. One was clearly claiming that it was he who had brought together the materials and deserved a pay rise for his extra labour, which the other vehemently denied. Apparently this was worth them wrestling in the mud for this imaginary right. He went over to see.

"What's going on here, guys? Cut it out already! We're supposed to be working as a team."

"You're not our Leige Lord, this isn't any of your concern, Wastelander! Now leave so we can settle this!" That was definitely disrespectful to someone who had helped them protect themselves from mirelurks and other things they'd be powerless against before, but never mind that.

"I have direct permission from your Leige Lord to oversee the administration of this area and show your people technological progress that will help elevate you. I've shown you guys how to use guns, how to scout properly, how to kill mirelurks and how to differentiate plastics from natural substances. So I damn deserve some respect from you people! Now cut out the argument and get to work. That way, you'll both get paid in the end. That understood?"

"Yes sir." The Crannogmen said in unison with one another, before getting back to their previous jobs, while sharing mutual looks of distrust at each other. At least unity was being brought into the equation again.

He and the others went about continuing construction of the new housing areas, constructed from supplies coming from Murkwater and the Warwick's, as well as areas of Wasteland Howland was reclaiming. He had his own set of Power armour traded from the Atom Cats that he was saving for some time, though he didn't know what for yet. Soon he heard a trumpet coming from one of the few dry patches of land.

About two dozen or more horses and their contents along with seventy soldiers were making their way through. Some were Crannogmen, others swamp adept settlers, and a few seemed a mixture- perhaps Smallfolk taking Wastelander items and customs to adapt. Out of the sole carriage popped out the Reed children, the young and wise Jojen and his more physically able sister Meera. They came to greet their father for a warm embrace, smiling and talking about some of the things that they had seen.

He had no place knowing what kind of things father and children would talk about, though he had never had the chance to be a father himself, so he would never really know. While Meera continued with her father, it wasn't long before Jojen came to see him. In truth, Sturges was somewhat creeped out by Jojen and the stories about his dreams and abilities other men dreamed of. He had believed magic to be mythical, both in the old world and in Westeros, but the startling accuracy that was coming from the dreams was making him wonder.

"Hello, Sturges. I see Father still wishes you to be around and fortify us from your enemies. His vassals have been busy fending off such threats. Lords Boggs and Cray gathered forces to eliminate one of those mirelurk queens that was setting up camp in Cray's northern most lands, and Meera and I did help bring the beast down. One of your men gave me a scoped pistol and trained me how to use it, which was of great use against the beast. My sister still prefers her bows and arrows, though the use of explosives and stunners on the ends has proved of use there too. You Wastelanders have taught us many things, but there are things that I can and must teach you Sturges." The boy paused to hear the answer.

"Wait, what do you mean? I've shown the advantages of technology, coordination and gadgetry to overwhelm previously trivial problems. Weapons that can take cities single handedly, works of medicine that seem miraculous. So many things!. I can-"

"And yet it has not brought unity to any of your lands. Even somewhere as small as Boston. Magic has been in a dormant phase for many years, but the arrivals of your land, as well as forces within the world itself, indicate that it is rising once more. Your destiny is tied in with ours now, you must face it. I know a glimpse of your future, but my interpretations will certainly not be as accurate as your own. Tonight, when you try and sleep, you will be granted this glimpse, perhaps in more detail than I was given. The three eyed crow has been watching you, and he has plans more intricate than you can possibly understand. At least in your current state. Good day to you, Sturges." The youth walked away to be with his father and mother. They and Meera were talking to the familiar face of Mama Murphy, who had recently arrived.

 _What the fuck was that about?_

The Longs were being themselves as usual. The loss of their boy was a sorrow Sturges could never understand, but he offered them comfort and shelter whenever he could. Not many others did.

Even Nathan had never found much time for the enstranged couple. _Some support for the community he was,_ he thought in resentment for the man who had liberated Concord and probably saved his life. Still, the guy had lost his wife and son as well, and he was now being caught up in politics, so this was hardly something he could shift the blame entirely on. After offering some counselling to them as he often would, he went down the newly constructed bench and took a bite out of the venison sandwich he had made himself from some of the baker's bread and food from the last hunt. As a neighbour came to sit down next to him, the plank they were on gave way and both men found their asses on the grassy floor.

"What the hell happened now?" Sturges exclaimed. His neighbour was Jun Long, who'd come to talk to him again.

"I'm so sorry, my friend. How clumsy of me! I'm such a burden to you, and now I've undone hours of your hardwork, and that of the other Minutemen. I knew I needed to lose some weight following the death of…" he turned away in sadness. A familiar sight.

He looked at the bench's breaking and saw the wood was not a sturdy type. "It's not your fault dude. The idiots who made this used a wood not designed for supporting weight. To be perfectly honest, it barely supported my own weight. We all make mistakes though, don't beat yourself up for something that was never your thing. Sure we've lost a lot over the years, but this new land means we have so much to gain. You have so much to gain here. Keep your heads up high, don't let the mistakes of the past get to you, because the future is worth it. Remember I'm always here for you both if you need it." He put a hand on Jun's shoulder.

"Th…thank you, Sturges. You've been a good friend to me. I won't forget it." He smiled; a rare sight for him and went to see his wife. Another day as usual. At least he wasn't being a marriage counsellor any more.

-

When the time came to bed, he managed to be secured one of Howland's guest chambers, the same he had for in his times going down south. It wasn't the best in the world, as he could constantly here the chirping of locusts and cicadas in the night, but at least he had brought a mosquito net to prevent them and their much larger cousins the bloodbugs from getting in. the bed was comfortable at least. It took at least half an hour, he estimated to fall asleep, but when he did, things would change for the worse.

He felt awake once more. But he was not on his bed; it felt like he was in some sort of void. As he floated back into consciousness, he realised something was very different. He tried to get up, and found that the floor he was on felt like metal.

The stench in the air was overwhelmingly of burning. He found himself on what looked like a map of Westeros, spread out like a satellite image, but with exaggerated characteristics. He could see tiny people moving around like armies, and beasts of all sorts. The oceans too felt like they were moving; organic. _What the hell's going on here,_ he thought _. Maybe this is what Jojen meant!_

As Sturges looked on, nothing in his computer knowledge could help him as the map moved. Boston and the other lands felt unnaturally grafted on to Westeros, like bad stitching, and were made of a rusted metal. He saw these metal tendrils spreading out from under Boston and infecting beings and the lands around it, though these beings would be subservient to the forces by choice. It would tear them down and rebuild them as it spread, as if assimilating all in its path. Lasers and steel fought it in the skies above Whiteharbour and King's Landing, among other places. Some of the replicas made broke free from the tendrils too though, as if someone was severing the chord from the shadows. It seemed that the Institute and Railroad would clash after all.

The three eyed bird was flying above it all. It landed on an unknown presence, perhaps some invisible branch. It was faced directly at Sturges, he noticed. Then it spoke like a man.

"Your lands prove to be infectious indeed, but there is so much more to fear than even you can imagine. A whole continent to their whim of 'enlightenment' is a kind fate compared to what else could lie in store. Many evils shall plague you."

As Sturges looked down, he saw that to the south of the Neck, embers spread from the burning Commonwealth, starting a fire there, with bodies from North and South feeding into its potency. The lions staved back the flames, but the trouts roasted in the waters, and the wolves howled. When the flames receded temporarily, the lion and wolf came to one another in battle. The fires continued on. Massive armies gathered in the south as stag clashed stag and lion, while radscorpions and vipers did their dance. It was as if something out of a play. Perhaps the radscorpions would migrate south?

To the east of him, he saw a massive continent, the land of Essos being subsumed by green goo far away, spreading like water across the surface. Coherent, yet also utterly mad, as a crazed laughter seemed to come from this greenery. The only thing keeping this back in the Far East was a great yellow fire, with the figure of a child, possibly a girl centred in the flames. When she opened her mouth, fire came out as did leathery wings, and so the green came to life in man's form and the two waged war.

Closer, harpies and dragons fought, while lasers broke armies of sellswords in the shore opposite Westeros.

Around and between the continents, the oceans boiled with electricity, with trouts and mermaids frying like cod. The smell was refreshing at first, but became unpleasant as the kraken flung its own tentacles towards the lands of western Westeros, but a fog obscured its presence so that the lions and wolves on the mainland did not see them coming. The lion, the wolf and the stag were far too busy locking horn and claw to notice the incoming dangers. Through this growing fog, many mirelurks and strange creatures he never saw before came through, and in the midst of it all, a lone red eye stared back at him.

Far north on this map floor, he could see the Wall shatter like glass twice; the first as a hole was torn in it and thousands of mice fled through from a threat he couldn't see, only to face the fire of guns and plasma. Above that, shadow was spreading. A second time and the Great Wall completely broke. The winds of winter broke through.

And yet while the south burned, he could sense a sudden change in the temperature of the air. A quick and cold presence overwhelmed him, and soon the waters and the fires of the land froze as well. As he looked up into this cold shadow, a white hand reached out and began to choke him. Its grip was colder than ice, and as he looked up, he saw hundreds of tiny blue lights, and above even him, two huge blue eyes staring back at him. It lifted him up. All he could let out for words was a whimper. _Is this how the world ends? Not with a bang, but with a whimper._ These were the tragic words he had read once, and it seemed the future too. The raven spoke once more.

"You can escape this fate you know, Sturges the Minutemen. You and all the others. But the path there will not be easy. Shadows will strike like vipers, bullets and many other things shall fly, Steel will bend and break, and the game of thrones will drag the world down further than ever before."

Now, the entire map and beyond was darkened and turning to ice. The crow continued. A thousand eyes and one. "But ultimately, the world has a choice. Ice or fire. Neither will be without cost, for you or everyone else in this world. Don't let them win! You must-"He could not hear anymore, as the choking was making him lose conscience. A flaming arrow came from the direction of the bird. The icy figure shattered like glass, and he fell down. Through the map into a bottomless pit. Oblivion.

"Your destiny lies North, Sturges. Make sure they unite before the end." And as he descended into total darkness, he felt a hard surface.

He woke up breathing like it was his first time. He hadn't been this afraid in many years, and never from a nightmare. He was sweating like a child. Jojen was right. There was far more to this than meets the eye. Something big was coming. And it would be up to him to find out.


	16. Victarion (II)

The journey to the Nucleus had taken a while, and he had lost several men to the threats present. One of the dumber men had been lost fighting a devolved 'radstags' or mutated deer with two heads. The glowing patches of skin and fangs as well as antlers made them deadly for certain. Ghouls and trappers would ambush them with various levels of cunning near the swamps, while mirelurks stalked from the water. The only things they didn't dare run into were the Crawlers that Longfellow had warned him about. Even beasts and the odd stray robot weren't that threatening though.

The vicious and hostile 'super-mutants' setting up camp in various areas, including the ruins of a former 'hospital' were particularly devastating. They were dumb but huge and savage monsters that ate normal men, and had hounds that would rival a direwolf. They towered over any ironborn and has muscles to match. Even their strange green skin was hard to penetrate, but eventually some had gone down, particularly with the help of some of the purchased guns. Perhaps there was definite use to these natives after all. Those from the town at least.

The synths were a freakish people. Not even humans! His men had asked about the creatures but they hardly believed him at first. Only when he took a 'photograph' of DiMA Kasumi had given him had they started to believe him. He thought there was more to them than met be eyes, and it was clear that DiMA had some major information on this 'drive'. If even the synth itself wanted it erased from his mind, the secrets it holds must be of great importance and consequence. Perhaps it was secrets to a weapon of sorts, or means on how to destroy one of the major settlements? Or even the location of a monster to slay. Those galloping monstrosities deserved to be slain. They were no Nagga the sea dragon, but the brothers would love to hear about this. But for now; these Children of Atom needed dealing with.

"When, Lord Reaver, well we be at this 'Nucleus' already? My feet are aching already!" Wulfe One-Ear would soon be Wulfe one arm if he didn't shut his trap.

"A real Ironborn doesn't get tired from a long walk, Wulfe! A real Ironborn takes what he needs, when he needs it. It doesn't have to be by the Iron Price, but by damn well take it. Are you a real Ironborn? Or are you Wulfe No-balls?" He knew this would make a humiliating defeat to the man, and indeed the others in his party laughed at Wulfe's expense. They could see a 'radio tower' which apparently meant they were close.

"We camp here for now before we plan. If they are hostile, we'll make the assault from here. Myself and my best guards shall come, you lot can stay here for now and wait. We march." Vic, along with Quellon, Wolfe and Rook went on their way towards the ravine which may have housed something of vital importance.

Up ahead they could see the old 'submarine' that was there. Supposedly, those things had once been used to travel underwater far below any normal ship. And yet it was here in land! Clearly superstition on behalf of the natives.

"It's huge!" Wolfe said. "You think that's the Nuck-Lee-Ous they mentioned?"

Victarion turned to him and remarked with a sigh. "That seems to be what they told us in Arcadia. Whatever that machine was for, it can't have been for swimming. Look how far from sea it is! Sure metal would be far better for ships than wood, but how heavy would it be?!"

"Hard to say, milord" Rook chipped in, having eavesdropped. "If it was this vessel that could travel underwater without having to come up, imagine how useful it would be! To ambush whole fleets single handedly, firing their explosive weapons like wildfire! A single one could destroy that damned Baratheon fleet without problem. These vessels could allow us to dominate the waves all around! Even if it wasn't a great stealthy ship, what could it possibly have been?"

"We'll find out once we get inside." The Captain of the Iron Fleet had no tolerance for such babbling about what could be, and for Rook to babble about what these new technologies could offer without even testing them first was ridiculous. He would find this data, take it back and use whatever was there to subjugate the locals. The residents of Far Harbour, while tough enough to fend off savage beasts were not the kinds of people that the Ironborn nerfed as vassals, like more Harlaws! Perhaps the Children of Atom would be different.

He saw what appeared to be some sort of conflict within the initiated. They clearly were debating about their rights of membership. As soon as Victarion and his group arrived, he saw the female member pull a gun on one of the males, except it fired a green ray of hoops like some smoker. It visibly drained life out of him and made his skin blister and weaken. When that didn't work, she got out a more regular looking gun and blasted him in the chest, though this also gave off a radioactive glow. As soon as this happened, the man fell down and cried "for Atom!"-before expiring. The woman than went back to her position. To consider such a place had women fighting as much as men was a strange thing to see in the male dominated Isles. There was only two ways this nature would affect the rest of the Isles, and he knew which side he wanted to be on, Others take Asha.

"Greetings newcomer," the leader in front of the two said. "I am Grand Zealot Brian Richter, main inquisitor of Atom's glorious spread. He can be felt by many, and some are especially gifted to his ways. You too can renounce your old godlessness and join us, it will certainly not be something you regret. Now, is that your aim?"

"We are not godless men, we are Ironborn, followers of the Drowned God! We have followed Him for thousands of years as a people, why should we stop now? What does this 'Atom' of yours have that he doesn't?" Victarion was definitely sceptical about the beliefs of this completely seperate religion, with tenets different o the Drowned God or the Faith of the Seven. Perhaps Atom was some local interpretation of Rh'lorr? Or was this totally novel, like many things on this damned island?

"I see you are those from the new lands yhat have replaced the mainland of old and live by much more primitive ways." He paused and saw a line shotgun on Rook's backpack. "For the most part at least. Unlike the powerless trinket gods you and the other natives of this island worship, Atom is no mere abstract concept but something we can all feel for ourselves. You may have seen fogs around the island and felt the warm glow of radiation all around you. That is Atom's presence all around, as he spreads his glory and brings about Division. There are others in Boston, but they are a considerably weaker, yet more hostile force to reckon with. There are those in Far Harbour who would see us exterminated, and the glory of Atom wiped clean from the land. We will not allow that to happen. I hear that you wish to obtain access to our building, perhaps for its secrets? You will need to pass the initiation in order for they to happen. All of you."

Victarion had no patience for this. "And what's to stop us cutting you to pieces and fighting our way in?" He got out weapons as a bluff, while Rook got out a shotgun.

"We have better armour, weapon and numbers than you. We know you have other forces as well, so we would face them too. You wish to find the secret? You must find the way many others did. Through finding that shrine and where you are supposed to go from there. Good luck on your journey, outlanders, and may Atom keep you safe." Vic nodded in a grudging respect and went on his way with his men in tow.

With the map they had obtained and some vague directions, their next location would be to the Spring shrine to Atom. Supposedly, this spring would grant them visions to reach their goal and find something there that would grant them entry to the Nucleus. There as only one way to truly find out what would happen though, and he knew what that was.

"Looks like it's nearby, milord!" Wolfe pointed out as he saw a docile 'radstag' feeding alongside some strange looking rabbits, drinking from the radioactive water. And there was the shrine. There would be much to learn here.

The Spring was small and almost ordinary, except that it was glowing, as were the fungi growing around it. The water was a murky colour. Something most definitely wasn't right with this water. But if he wanted to go, he would need to.

"Quellon! You try the stream first!" He ordered. He patted him on the back to set him on his path. The fool stumbled and fell into the water, with the others laughing in response. He spat out some radioactive pisswater and and continued on his way. He bent over and took a sip from the fountain.

"It's fine, milord! The water's strange, but it has a surprising flavour...to...it...Very strange, yet I like it." He started to have a look on his eyes. Perhaps he was seeing things and finding some miracle powers after all.

"Let me have some of that, the great Lord reaver came and took a healthy gulp of the stuff, to the protest of Wulfe.

"Isn't it unsafe to drink from here so soon?" The worrying warrior was cynical of this initiation ritual, even when it was clearly necessary. "Surely we should wait?"

The light around them started to change to a greener colour, like those of the forests back home and on the mainland, but the air itself was green as well. Everything felt blurred and strange. His men were puzzled, with Quellon being in an even greater stupor than he was. He stumbled around searching for something, and he saw him attacking some imaginary being while shouting obscenities at it.

"Don't be delusional, Quellon! There's nothing there, your mind is-" then he saw her.

The dark lady was like nothing he had ever seen before. She appeared to burn with shadows like some force of Asshai, yet it was all controlled and disciplined, and she spoke in the same way the natives did, though with an eerie, otherworldly presence to her.

"Victarion Greyjoy. Outlander. I have been sent by Atom to guide your steps in His ways. Renounce your old God of falsity and accept Atom, and you shall find new purpose. Go, and find my icon!" Her mouth closed like a pit and she was silent, only pointing towards the upper hill. He started up.

"A spirit sent from Atom has come to me! She wants us to travel and find her artifact to show our faith! Nothing of our old faith was ever this real to me- we were wrong all along. Let's go and find them! And may this 'Atom' keep us safe." They all were drunken from the spring now, and began the slow and clumsy journey up the hill under the woman's direction.

After a bit, they started seeing local animals in a friendly state, yet when they attacked to feed, their attacks were like going through smoke. Some of the animals though were indeed solid, but didn't react to anything they threw and were like statues, yet twitched like the normal things. The only beasts that moved normally, were the ghouls, but they were blurred out and hard to spot, making them more dangerous even than normal. They would fight their way through them one at a time, though things did become difficult.

It took time for them to figure out well enough, for Quellon, the clumsy fool found himself with a legless ghoul biting his ankles, distracting him long enough for a stronger looking ghoul to come in and pin him to the ground, tearing at him with its nails and teeth, as he fought off screaming. The next moment, Victarion was on the degenerate and shoving it off, ready to bury his axe in its head. The legless one was one him though, fortunately it couldn't bite into his boots, and so he crushed its head with his foot. The other had got up now and resumed its attack.

He shoved it off and repeatedly attempted to swing, only for his motion to be hindered by his state of mind. The beast grabbed in his arm with deep nails and started to lunge its jaws, but a fist full of chainmail broke its teeth in two punches, and he threw it off balance. He could now finally use his axe to cleave it in half from rib to rib and from elbow to elbow. He knew now it was dead.

He turned around and saw that Quellon was bleeding out, having fought off two other ghouls. He wasn't sure where Wulfe and Rook had gone now. The man looked at him and begged for dignity. With a slice of his battle axe, the man's wish was granted.

Having lost a comrade to such insanity, the visions were continued to be guided by the shadowy woman. She spoke again.

"That way." She pointed towards a garage of sorts. "Please Atom ad you will recieve many things." She disappeared this time. He arrived towards it, only to find a group of dead ghouls, except for a legless straggler. He put it out of its misery and came to the door. It looked like someone else had been recently. The others were still nowhere to be seen. He saw a decorated room full of artifacts and drawings dedicated to 'Atom' in all of their ways, including written notes about His glory. It was true in ways. This Atom had been a more direct and miraculous force to appear than the Drowned God ever did, and had created a menagerie of unique animals and weapons from it. His presence had been felt as soon as he felt radiation for the first time, including the almost sentient fog that was only held at bay by Far Harbour and such. Perhaps this was more worth it than he had thought.

But it when he went to a cage, he saw that the artifacts it was supposed to locate was gone. It was clearly unlocked by one of those strange computer terminals next to it. _Only a craven would resort to such technological treachery_ , the Lord Reaver thought. Then he felt a presence of the previous visitor. Without even having to look, he knew the man behind him was far dream a craven, or any sane man.

"You looking for something, brother?" The man he knew as Euron Greyjoy was behind him, with a shady, inhuman presence clinging to him, almost like the Woman who guided him here. He looked proud and fearsome, with a model of the mother in one hand, and a blood-soaked Valyrian dagger in the other. On his back, he could see the monster of a man also had a harpoon gun and some unknown weapons, probably taken from locals.

"What is it you are doing here, foul excuse of a brother?" Victarion batted back to him. I will not fall for your tricks again! Balon still lives, and you have no place in the Iron Islands, so leave before you die."

"But this 'Far Harbour' isn't a part of the Greyjoy realm. At least not yet. I'm getting quite a liking to life here, you see. These weapons, medicine, electric power and things, they're incredible. They may as well be a form of magic, how far beyond our world they are. You are reluctant to taste the new world, I can see it in your eyes. And yet magic, too, is on the rise, hence the conjunction of worlds occurring in the first place. You and Balon lost your chance nine years ago, now comes mine!"

The smirking monster always had something up his sleeve, something which prevented him from taking action into his own hands. Kinslaying was something vilified amongst all cultures of Westeros, including the Ironborn and presumably the Wastelanders as well, but the presence of this beast in front of him tempted him.

He staggered as the effects of radiation intensified and he felt drowsy. "You don't... deserve to rule a hut in Sothyros, let alone the Iron Islands and beyond, you...y...you lunatic! After what you did to my salt wife, you cannot date to claim any kind of dignity or chance of success here. The Drowned God curses you for your insolence!"

"Fuck the Drowned God and his customs, he didn't stop me from all the other things I've done. Things you couldn't even comprehend yet. You were always a dim beast. Strong in the outside, but weak and pathetic on the inside. You won't even admit how much she loved me being inside her, and you blamed me for it! You fear change from an old state of being, while fearing all that is new, even when we could change the world with it. You've been weaker in this land than ever before, and it's hilarious to see."

"How would you even know what I've done. We haven't seen in more than a year, there is no way you could be present. The weapons and medicine these locals have are far greater than what we have, I'll admit, but such things should be used carefully, lest they fall into the wrong hands, and we fall into chaos."

"I know far more than you could possibly imagine, brother. About you, about the island, about the truth of magic in the world, about everything. Electricity, guns, stimpaks, radiation, rockets. They won't bring us into a endless pit, they'll bring us in the greatest ladder there is, and the only way to climb it is up." He smiled once again in his vicious smirk. He took of his eyepatch, revealing his black eye.

"I see a great future, a destiny ahead of us. We mustn't be left in the dust with our old ways, we must change with these new circumstances, and conquer them. Goodbye, brother."

He threw something on the floor, and more black smoke spread up through the area up to his face, staying there for several seconds without ceasing, while his head ached as his vision failed him for a short time. When Victarion cleared his eyes from this dust and clouding migraine, his brother was gone, and the traces of radiation in his mind were quickly fading, except he felt exhausted m, both physically and mentally. _By the Drowned God,_ he thought. _I need to find the others._

As he went out to find the others, he couldn't tell if what he saw was the start of Euron's return, a warning from Atom, or simply a delusion. Perhaps it was all of them. He would bade to know.

As as he figured the map again, he made his way back, not seeing anything present. He saw a trail of blood on some leaves, wondering if it was some type of deer that was being hunted. He was wrong.

It was Wulfe. His body was laid in a twisted position. The wolves were tearing at his corpse, while his throat had been slashed in a way which couldn't have been a random animal attack. Rook was nowhere in sight either. Perhaps, Rook had betrayed Wulfe when he had a chance to gain access to his gear, including the drink he had brought that could allegedly control mirelurks and such. Or perhaps the vision had at least some element of truth to it. Just about seven metres to the west of the corpse though was a wooden sculpture that had fallen. The Mother statue!

He picked it up and felt a radioactivity flow from it once again. Atom was real, he thought, and he had a plan for Victarion Greyjoy!


	17. Bran (II)

It has been days since the time at the tower, but it felt very different to him. On one hand, he could remember it like it was seconds ago, the memory and trauma of watching a man die for the first time still in his mind. But in the other, it felt like weeks since he had last seen his family, played with his siblings, or even seen the gates of Winterfell. He could hear the screams and shouts of it, but he remained calm, for the murderer was his 'friend' and 'protector' who was with him now.

"Strong hungry. Strong want to go hunting again. Bran hungry too?" The giant seemed to do little but shout every little line that came from his mouth.

"We'll go hunting later, I don't have the energy to go yet."

Trying to sneak up on targets was difficult with such a large hostile beast at his side. As a result, they were allocated to different things. Bran would go after small prey like rabbits, rats, mole rats, pigeons and other such small creatures, even occasional going after deer when necessary, as well as harvesting shorter berries and other small edible plants. Strong, with his power and strength, tended to go after tough prey like deer, great elk, ragstags, Mirelurks and aurochs, while also reaching for taller plants. Bran would also climb when necessary to reach new areas.

He may have felt free at times, but there were certainly no options in terms of going home any time, as Strong was convinced they would both just be killed. He certainly would, but Bran was a child of Winterfell, not some common criminal. Then again, perhaps the queen would wish to silence him for his knowledge of her and her brother. He thought people would be out looking for him, but thanks to Strong, they were regularly escaping.

"Strong feel cold. Strong want coat, now!"

"But, we didn't bring any when you escaped Winterfell. And you burnt the elk's coats. Perhaps next time we keep them for it?"

He certainly wasn't a fan of the cold weather that Winterfell normally had, but Winter was coming, and so he would need insulation before things got too bad.

"Have you seen any humans recently? Other than me of course."

Strong seemed puzzled by this question and seemed to have a low level of suspicion come over him. "Strong go north from Lannister men. Strong not see any soldier coming after Strong or Bran in days." Bran knew from experience that Strong wasn't the most perceptive or subtle, so it's provable that there were others. "Strong see sign leading to 'Last Heart' or some place. Strong find allies there, perhaps?"

"Doubtful." Bran replied. He knew by allies, he meant people who would protect Strong from his father and Cersei, rather than simple loyalists. "Lord Umber is faithful to my father and would return us both soon. If you want friends, you may need better than that." He had some spite in his voice from this. Strong wasn't happy at that.

"Little Bran don't dare hurt Strong! Strong make stew out of little boy and eat! Strong kill anyone who try to take you!" He was getting scared again, as he didn't think Strong had enough capacity to effectively lie or bluff. He tried to defuse the situation.

"What if it's your friends? Like Nathan, the one who rescued you from that tower and recruited you with friends? Maybe he'll accept you back. He didn't like the Lannisters much either, so he may help you."

"Strong...uh...Strong need better than that to surrender. Strong only wish to find Milk to help fellow mutant, but Strong not see many mutant in Bran land. Strong lonely!"

"I'm here with you," not that I have a choice, he thought secretly. "I'm always here if you need someone to talk to about things. This arguing won't help either of us. We should hunt." The monster nodded and the two got out from their weapons pile their necessary gear.

The journey was longer than usual to find food, but then some animals may have been frightened by Strong and his mighty hammer. Bran wasn't allowed to use any of Strong's guns, and the one Preston had given him was taken away, but he was allowed to have a bow and arrow with which to hunt. With this, and some local poisons extracted from berries, hunting prey was often not a difficult task. Strong had decided to stay at camp while waiting for Bran's food, but he could wait.

He saw a fawn separated from its mother. He suddenly felt very hesitant to take the creature, as this was merely an infant, looking for its parents, not too different from himself. But he needed food. He got out his bow and started to pull, aiming for the deer's neck in order to give it a quick death. He had an itch on the back of his head, and soon he felt something else entirely.

It was like he had thoughts entering his head from another. His mind buzzed and his vision changed. Suddenly, he was munching on grass, and enjoying it. He turned and realised he had two toed hooves and was covered in fur. He was the deer!

His vision felt separated, and he could not perceive depth anymore, but he could hear quite well. He turned in one direction and saw himself, standing still but with white eyes. Perhaps the old stories were true. I'm a warg!

He started walking towards his human body to see what it was like to feel a human from an animal's perspective. He could feel every blade of grass brush against his fur and flesh, and was feeling the breath coming from the still living boy body. Then his mind blurred once more, and he was in a new body.

This one had no interest in grass, but wanted meat. It was big, tough and powerful, with great jaws and a soft tongue. He could see the deer again, and his human restraint was gone this time. He charged and with padded paws, pinned the mesmerised deer to the ground and tore out its throat, with blood splashing all around. It satisfies his hunger in many ways, and he noticed something familiar. He was too big to be a normal dog or wild compared to his human body, and his fur was familiar in colour. His direwolf had escaped the city and come after him! He knew a link between them was present, but it was incredible to see he was loyal after all this time. As he was about to eat more, his presence went back into his human body.

His beautiful wolf, already larger than any ordinary one, shine brightly in the sun as the bright glow of summer shone around them both.

"Summer." He said as he finally found a name for his pet. He ordered Summer to drop the carcass and save some for him and his friend. They started on their way back, while the two of them found an interesting sight just a few metres away from them.

It looked like a human, but was emaciated, skinny and wearing rags of a strange brand he did not know. They had lost their hair and their skin was a vague pink colour. Besides them, he saw another two, one of which had the garments of a Smallfolk farmer. They were scratching and staring at one another, while a fourth was seemingly dead next to them. He couldn't see any of their faces. He would wish he hadn't soon.

He called over, a foolish move in hindsight. "You folk alright? You seem tired and lost."

They turned around and revealed they were no men at all. At least not anymore. Their eyes were sunken and seemed to be glowing, their lips had rotted away like a corpse and the teeth were sharpened and broken in places. Their bony and fleshy appearance was dreadful and haunting to look at, he almost was crying at the sight of the monsters. There was only one thing these could have been, the things Old Nan had tried to scare him with for his bedtime stories. These were Others!

They screamed and and charged at him and Summer. Summer darted out of the way and jumped at one, tearing out its throat with minimal effort, while doing whatever he could to get between the others and Bran.

The two were now running as fast as they can, as Bran could hear more emerging and coming on their way to meet them. He sensed they wanted to eat him and his Direwolf, and while they could have been human once, they definitely weren't now.

As they moved, the Others gathered on their position, scratching at him as he climbed a tree. One of them was particularly bold and started climbing behind him, although frantically and with no method to it whatsoever. He had only a dagger to defend himself, as his now and arrow were useless to him.

After a few seconds of finding a decent branch, he latched on. He had a breather for a short time, but now he saw one of the corpses had made its way up to him, shrieking in hunger. It tried to bite his face off, but he repeatedly kicked it away. It was much bigger than him though, and so he needed to throw it off balance. He flipped his foot toward the beast's wrist and made it staffer back, only to scratch him in an excruciating pain, to which he screamed, attracting more of the monsters.

He finally got his nerve together and got his dagger out, cutting through the monster's flesh above the elbow, rendering it with one arm. It did almost nothing to the beast's mentality, as it felt no pain. He couldn't imagine what kind of monster would create such a deadly force, but all he could do now was hope to take off the other arm and send it tumbling down onto the rocks beneath.

Bran had never been so scared in his life than of these savage Others, but he knew there was only one option: kill or die. The one armed one coming towards him was losing its grip, but so was he as he was further up the branch now than before. He did the only thing he could think of and stab his dagger into its eye socket. It went all the way down into the eye and through till the dagger's hilt was just out. It stopped moving and fell down to the rocks below, taking his knife with him. He was now effectively defenceless.

And more were starting to climb up. May the Old Gods be merciful to me, he thought as they closed in.

Bang!

Several were now knocked out of the tree away from him, and a shard of metal got lodged in bark right next to him. The Others on the ground turned their attention to him, all except one with half an arm, who hadn't attacked at all while the others did, and simply stated at Bran despite being otherwise physically able.

The sight was Strong, with one of his guns. A 'shotgun' as he had once mentioned. It appeared to have bullets that exploded into multiple pieces of shrapnel to spread damage.

"Strong protect his friends and kill his enemies! Die, Ferals!" He cried as he held his shotgun with a single hand and got a super sledge in the other. Both at long and close range, he was slaughtering ghouls like it was nothing. Summer returned at his duty of tearing the throats of stray 'ghouls' as Strong described them.

He saw one of the ghouls, the partially armed one, start attacking the other ghouls with a dagger. Perhaps it was sapient, unlike these 'Ferals'. Whereas the others were bald or with patchy hair, it had red hair and he noticed one of the eyes was actually an eye patch drawn to resemble a real eye. It was a wonder this ghoul was even functioning, yet it was far more competent than the others. Only Hancock was more competent, and he was sapient. Perhaps this one had only turned recently, or it had been special. He noticed something incredible though. The dagger he had was on fire!

The last of the hostile ghouls had now been disposed of, and the friendly one came over to offer his hand up to Bran, but he was too nervous to take his hand following what Jaime Lannister had offered. Strong too understood this fear seemingly.

"Strong curious? Strong want to know why one ghoul help while others fight!" He aimed his shotgun readily at the ghoul. "I'm...not just a normal ghoul."

It spoke!

The accent was definitely not that of a Wastelander, but a Westerosi, a highborn even. "I have cheated death many times, but each time, it becomes closer and closer. The Lord of Light has protected me so far. I am Beric Dondarrion, a Lord of the Stormlands, servant of Rh'lorr and explorer of the wasteland. I have seen many horrors I never thought I'd see, and they would rival even the worst childhood stories you've seen." He turned to Bran as he said the last words. "Now, let's go and find some shelter."

Bran spoke up. "We have a camp not too far from here. You can join us if you like, we need as much help as we can."

The man must have seen many things, for he was scarred many times in ways that could, no, should have been lethal. This man had something different about him.

"You are most thankful, and I am most grateful. Very well, I will sleep alongside you folk."

He turned to Strong. "It's great to see a mutant friendly to humans who doesn't want to eat us. I was one of the Royal expeditionary force, you see." He smiled at the giant. Bran knew better than that. But they nevertheless went back to camp to prepare.

This improved company would certainly be something Bran could tolerate, as someone who didn't want to eat him.

The campfire was warm and kind compared to the harsh forests around them, with wood and dry leaves making good fuel. The three of them and summer were gathered around eating their rudimentary meal consisting of venison, plucked elderberries and raspberries, some tomatoes and potatoes Berric had brought from the Wasteland, and some fruit tinted water to wash it all down. It wasn't that much of a meal, but it was definitely better than nothing. They began to talk and discuss their days.

"Well," Dondarrion started after chomping down on some venison- "I was a part of the Royal Expeditionary force along with my friend Thoros of Myr; who helped convert me to the Lord of Light. He gave me the ability to be brought back from the dead at his will. Magic may seem a legend to you, boy, and insane to you, mutant." He took another mouthful of boiled potato before continuing. "But it's true. Every time I die, Thoros says his prayer to the Lord and I am revived. Each time, however, I lose something of myself, and I fear one day I will have my time. The radiation from the Glowing Sea has taken my good looks for example."

He broke out into laughter, as did the others. Composing himself, and downing some wine he had in a flask, he continued.

"My story certainly has had many ups and downs, as you can imagine. Your wasteland emerging in our world is surely a symbol that magic is rising once again, a hope of wonder and miraculous things, and a gift for technology to bring about a golden age that Valyria would envy. But at the same time, new challenges have arisen which put us all to the test."

He sighed and turned specifically to Bran. "Kings compete for a throne which doesn't matter as much as they think it does. The ancient Wall is facing its last days, and false worshippers gather in the Wasteland under their depraved monstrosities and pervert my Lord." He took a breather to take a strange little object, produce fire from it and breath in the fumes. "New land is appearing from scratch now. A new island has appeared near Pyke, and the ruins of Summerhall have been replaced with...something else. The things in Boston are far bigger though and must be the worst. I have seen many horrible things in my life, but the ones most recently are enough to top them all. I wonder how any of you Wastelanders survive at all!" Strong seemed impressed.

"Strong hardened. Strong know all Commonwealth dangers. Strong not let it get to Strong, nor to Strong's friends!" He turned to Bran and nodded to him as a sign of approval to speak.

"Well, we've been out here for a few days now. I am Bran Stark of Winterfell, and this is Strong, my cap-" he got a look of disapproval. "-my friend and protector from all the foul things seeping in from the Wasteland." He awkwardly smiled.

"Ah, son of Ned Stark I presume? Well, isn't that interesting. I wouldn't have thought someone like him would allow a trueborn son to be out here with a mutant. Are you on your way to join these 'Minutemen' who come from Boston?"

"No, we're away from them right now. How did you know?" Bran had only seen them in or near Winterfell, but perhaps some were going to the Riverlands.

"We went into the Wasteland, and Minutemen and the like helped us against the vicious monsters that live there and the raiders which may just be worse. The people I was alongside were no better than them, just less advanced in technology. I presume you've heard the stories about the Mountain's Men or the Brave Companions?"

"I've heard only that the Mountain and his men did things during the sack of King's Landing, but I wasn't told what. I don't know of the Companions. Sellswords?" "Indeed, the worst of them in fact. That and the new raiders propping up and spreading into our lands are making the Smallfolk pile towards the Minutemen. Any attempt for Lannister armies to go into the proper North without explicit permission from you father would result in a war. There are less than three thousand of us now, and this wouldn't stand a chance against the North and Riverlands. It seems war is close, but your bed time is closer. Best to get to sleep now before it gets too late."

He got up and went for his hammock he had constructed earlier. Strong stood up and spoke.

"Bran smarter than Strong think. Strong let Bran have blanket Strong found in Goodneighbor." He handed over a blue and silly blanket for Bran to use as he went to bed. And then he walked off.

Bran found his sleeping bed, put his blanket around him and started. It wasn't the cosy beds of Winterfell, but it could do. Summer cuddled up next to him and leaned his mass next to the boy, acting as a second blanket to him. The two were inseparable, and he wouldn't let anything happen to his wolf if it was within his power. He started to sleep.

His dreams were strange again. A lot of the time, he felt like he was in Summer again as he went out on his night visits, others a squirrel or birds. But sometimes it wasn't this warging ability present. Other times, he had nightmares about what happened. About the vicious green giant he called his friend turning on him.

The blonde knight throwing him out of the window- what could have happened to me then? How would I be able to function dead or crippled? And the sight of the ghouls was haunting as it was. At least they weren't Others as he had initially thought.

The night was quite restless in dreams, even if his sleep was good. In fact, he was unable to wake up while in these states, which was unusual even for him.

The following morning, he woke to find Summer had gone, as had Beric. Strong was still napping at the foot of the oak tree overlooking their encampment. The food was still there for the most part, so he was able to break his fast there. Venison dipped in a mix of berry juice provided a decent waking meal, with a dash of orange juice.

Also present was a drink Strong hadn't provided for last nights supper. He thought it was called 'Nuka cola quantum', or a rare version of the Nuka Cola he had seen Nathan and other Minutemen have back in Winterfell. This drink glowed a strange blue like the moon, and allegedly had strange properties when drunk. He would love to try this fascinating dish.

The taste was strange and fizzy, but very sweet and tasty. It felt highly refreshing, especially after what little he had drink before. Already he was feeling more refreshed, but it was more than that. He felt energised to new levels, behind any he knew before. He started shaking with excitement and began to run around, laughing as the wind took him.

His direwolf arrived back, covered in some rusty substance but otherwise unharmed, and Bran was too ecstatic to care at this point. He gave some to Summer and soon he too was running as they went around the forest, while Strong was stirring from his nap.

He got particularly giddy and found some of his weapons that Strong had taken, including his little pistol. He went out to play with his dog. As they ran through the fields, it reminded him of the good days in Winterfell, where he had tried to play with his older brothers and sister, while Rickon was merely a babe. Not that he was much older now, he thought. But this was different.

The energy of the drink gave him not only a boost of energy, but a loss of a perception of danger. He felt almost invincible, yet at the same time he felt the bizarre wooziness that this 'radiation' brought. In retrospect, this felt risky to consume, but fortunately it was the only one he would see for a long time, allowing him to savour his first dose of this 'caffeine' substance, and when he went to release himself, his urine was blue and glowing like the drink. It was truly a magical experience for both him and Summer, who would often take part in warging while on their high state of mind. It is near the end of this that they found they weren't alone.

"Look, a little boy!" A man in a pale green armour said. He had some powerful looking guns on him and his men. He was smiling, but this did nothing to comfort Bran as he looked at the uneasy individuals surrounding him and his dog.

"Isn't it a little early for a boy your age to be up? Come with us, we'll show you so many new ways to play!" He reached out his arms to Bran.

Bran ran as fast as his legs could carry him, with Summer not far behind. Still in a dose from the quantum, this made it harder to get away from the men. He turned in his run to Summer and shouted "go on without me, you can do it!" To which the dog whined in protest mid run. "Please, you have to! We will see again!"

The dog relented and ran as fast as he could. Bran tried getting towards the forest, but the bad man grabbed him before.

"Got the little Bastard now!" The man howled with laughter to his comrades.

"I'm no bastard!" The young boy replied in response, for he didn't know why they were making this accusation against him.

"Oh hahaha. You're a fighter, aren't you? We love a fighter you see. We're the gunners, the Commonwealth's number one hired gun agency, any job for a coat is our motto. But I don't need to be paid to enjoy this! I wonder what we'll do to you when we get back. Train you up as one of ours, sell you to some slavers, use you as target practise, or for the Commander's special kids. So much choice for you. You should be proud!"

Slavery was something banned in Westeros thousands of years ago, and all cultures, even those dreadful Ironborn thought of it as abominable. The man was obviously a lunatic even by his kind's standards, for the others on his group reacted with disgust at these plans.

"That's seriously messed up, boss." One woman initiate said with a cringe. He barked back- "is that a questioning of orders, private? I wouldn't do that if I were you." He had his left hand on his rifle and seemed to not have any hesitation in offing subordinates.

"No sir!" She backed down and got back into orders along with the others. He turned back to Bran.

"Looks like you're in for some fun now." He prepared to undo his trousers, only to have a bullet go into his head, as he collapsed dead in front of Bran.

He looked around, as did his captors, but no one could be seen. The figure who was doing this soon came out and cracked some gunner's neck. It was the ghoul, Hancock!

"Boy am I glad to see you here, kid!" The ugly man said. "We've been looking for you for days!" He shot out at the gunners, but not before one got behind cover, got out a box and shouted to it. "We need backup now!" The man said before putting it away and firing back.

Soon, Hancock was joined by a group of father's men and the Minutemen, armed with swords, axes, bows, crossbows, pistols, rifles and the strange 'lasers' that some such as Preston preferred to use.

The initial group of gunners was quickly mowed down, and Bran felt he would be rescued soon.

Then they came.

Soon, about three or four metal fliers came from a distance, filled with these gunners, except they had some mounted weapon on them. It looked much bigger than the others.

"Mini gun!" Hancock cried. "Get to cover! Now!" It was rapid, but a very intense range of fire came down on them. Many of the medieval soldiers and Minutemen were cut down quickly by the gunfire, as they hovered above. Only the hardest of them dared attack the buzzing metal monsters, with Hancock being one bold or stupid enough to do so.

One of the Minutemen got out a sniper and hit a Vertibird driver in the head, and the metal vehicle spiralled out of control in their direction. When it hit the ground, the vehicle was torn apart with the wings tearing off before an explosion occurred. Hancock screamed.

Bran turned to him to see he had a plate sized piece of shrapnel in his gut, another finger sized one in his knee and a third one slicing off part of his left ear. He was obviously in intense pain and called out for help. Bran tried to find something in the airbag, but yet another gunner was here.

"What do we have here? The little shit that got us in this in the first place! That idiot Grayson wanted you for himself and for our boss, but I think we can deal without you."

She pointed her combat rifle to Bran's head. He wanted to plead, but he knew deep down it would do nothing. He close his eyes in fear, anticipating the end.

He heard a muffled noise, followed by a sickening snap! When he opened his eyes, he saw Strong was back, having killed the woman about to off him. He looked saddened and stressed.

"Strong sorry for wanting to eat Bran. Strong sorry for kidnapping and being so mean. Strong want another chance." He took a free hand out and offered it to him.

"Sure," Bran replied. "But let's get out of here before we make apologies too drawn out. We are getting shot at after all." Strong smiled on his snarling way and they got up together.

Two more gunners, these ones aimed with a sword and a spiked bat respectively came at them. Strong got out his flaming Warhammer, glowing like Lightbringer and smashed one in the head, while in the other hand, he grabbed the second gunner's leg and broke it with a pull, causing them to try out in pain. He then grabbed their weapon and smashed their head in as well. "Strong smash!" He swore he heard this as the two went out and broke through the gunner ranks.

As men of both sides were killed around them, Strong tore easily through the gunners until he saw the captain, who was looking ahead into battle with a sniper and did not see him coming. Strong grabbed the sniper and stuffed it down the man's throat, till the entire hilt was there. Bran looked away to spare his dignity as to what happened next. Then he saw another complication.

In the distance, an army of at least several hundred men were coming over to reinforce and defend the Winterfell attack force. Bran couldn't see the banners, but he swore he could see pink on the larger sigils, without recognising the smaller ones.

The two of them continued on their journey for many metres, until even the humming of the machines couldn't be heard anymore. Strong once again carried him off, but he wasn't without competition.

A sharp scream came from Strong and he dropped Bran, who quickly scrambled to his feet to see what was going on. The person he saw was far more insane than any of the gunners, who were relatively competent.

"What are you?" Bran asked as he saw a curved, red hot blade in one of the maniac's hands, that had clearly stabbed Strong's calf. It was heated by some simple lighters being tied to it. The four other fire obsessed raiders had some form of fun that was so big it required two hands. It seemed from the glow inside that these could breath fire like a dragon.

"We need initiates and sacrifices for the Lord to behold!" The man was smiling like a maniac, as were his compatriots. "His champion shall rise and save the world from the incoming cold, and you and your friend will be great for either of these." He started laughing as he prepared to take Bran by the collar of his shirt and 'play' with him. Strong got their first. He tossed the leader aside with minimal effort, before turning around to the others.

They set their dragon-guns on him and he cried in pain as he smashed his hammer into them. He only got two of them before he was on his knees in pain. They continued.

Bran did the only thing he could. He got out his pistol and fired at the tanks the guns had. An explosion consumed both of them and Strong was relieved, if badly burnt. He now turned to the leader, whose sword was thrown away and no longer flaming. Strong was madder than Bran had ever seen him before.

He put down his hammer and used just his fists. The first punch bent the man's leg to an unnatural level, with it splintering and blood coming out. He cried out. Now his head was vulnerable. The second punch sent a devastating reshaping of his helmet, presumably designed to avoid gunshots and fire damage to the head, smashing the glass effortlessly, and reducing his teeth, nose, lower jaw and one eye to a bloody pulp, while the wood on the tree behind splintered and cracked to which he was struggling to breath. The third finished off the brute's head as it was smashed like a rotten fruit. Bran looked away just before it happened, but he could see blood splatter around.

Quite soon, the last of the fiery raiders had his throat torn out by a familiar face.

"Summer!" He cried as the wolf came to him in a mutual hug. His giant friend was severely injured, but appeared to already be starting to heal.

"Strong need to get out of here. Strong say we go more north." He pointed to a sloping group of forests, followed by plains, followed by what Bran first thought to be some extension of sky. But another look showed he was wrong. He saw the Wall itself!

"Surely there is no way we could head that far north, could we? We wouldn't be allowed to get through without permission from the Nights Watch. What about Skagos?"

Truth be told, he would vastly prefer being united with his family in Winterfell. But he was trying to appeal to Strong's misanthropic nature, and so far it was working.

Maybe he would come back at a time when things were safer, and the situation less tense.

Only time could tell.


	18. Curie (I)

The journey up north with the Minutemen and guards had been quite a long and interesting one. She had seen on these speedboats the sheer scale of the North. She had only stopped at Bear Island, the home of House Mormont, a lesser vassal of the Starks. It would have been far better in a human-like synth body, resembling the desires of her creator in the distant past. Even the cynical and grim Lady Maege was intrigued and seemingly disgusted by the appearance of her. The daughter was much more curious as to her Miss Nanny build, even asking what being a robot was like. If only she could look as a lady as she dreamed. But she had to know that was behind her now. Now was a new type of land entirely.

She could see the coast and a massive block of ice. She magnified her optics to get a better look at the structure. It was being manned by many castles built on top of it to scout. People looked like ants at these distances, but she could already notice differences. Those on the 'Wall' were covered in black and yet there were multiple green coats there as well. The Minutemen had been here as well! If only for security. The scale of their ambition must have been great. She looked around at her crew and saw most were the hardier members of the organisation, except for one, who was pleasant and all that, but had something off about him. But she lamented in the beauty of where she was and had been.

"Oh how I wish I could explore these beautiful places! Why on earth would we be sent so far north anyway?"

"It's hard to say." The suspicious man said. "The Minutemen are aiding the Nights Watch in protecting the realm against wildlings and savages, and yet here we are trying to form diplomatic ties with those wildlings and savages! I can only wonder how this will turn out." He clearly wasn't a fan of the General's decisions, but was going ahead anyway. This was intriguing.

"Then why do you follow him so?" She asked as she used her appendages to cut through some metal to form cutlery for the rest of the team.

"I was the one who suggested to the Castle to do this, you know. We need to assess the people's here. Perhaps they're not this world's raiders after all, there's only one way to find out. Surely, we're here to protect all humans, and perhaps more." The last line sounded suspicious, but she couldn't argue with his logic. Why he wanted to go was suspicious even more so.

"And why would that be?"

"To find out the real deal, as I said. Anyway, looks like we're almost here."

She could see the iced coast they were settling for. It must have been about ten or twenty miles north of the Wall and it was clearly cold. There were still forests here, but they were coniferous and snowy, not at all like the temperate flora further south. She would wish to research this further and add it to her databases. She exclaimed out loud. "So much here to learn, I cannot wait for analysis of all this."

"Alright, men, and Curie", the Minutemen commander on board started. "We're here thanks to this guy"- he pointed at the bald man-" to make establishment of contact with the people beyond the Wall and to see if we can reach a diplomatic solution regarding the matter. Hostile tribes and such will be dealt with, but friendlies and innocents should be allowed south, damn what the lords say! Prepare yourselves, because it'll be a long journey and you'll need to pack for the long term!" He got back to work soon, as the men got ready to prepare to dock. The man turned to her once again.

"See, it ain't so bad! We can scour the region and get a really solid idea of what's going on. We'll be able to save thousands, hopefully." She had to admit she enjoyed this idea.

"Then let us not waste time! We must go in and save the peoples of the far north! I have a hard time believing the lords and ladies would prevent so many from having the same standards of life as them." The Bear Island fishermen escorting them spoke up to respond.

"Like they would ever let that happen. Sure, it's unfair, and it probably leads to all the Wildling attacks on the Wall in the first place, but we can hardly knock the Wall down now, can we?"

"You're right." She sighed. "I can be so full of hopes and dreams you know, I just wish there was more I could do in all of this."

"You'll have plenty to do when we get there. Be safe on your journey, robot, and may the odds be ever in your favour." The empty coast was now just a few hundred metres away. She swore she could see a black cat sneeking into the woods at the sight of the boat, but no people were there to greet. Perhaps it was for the better.

The boat finally got to shore and they started getting off, rifles and other weapons at the ready. The fishermen, who's name was something like Rickard, would stay at the docks till they returned. The rest of the fifty or so Minutemen and herself would move out and investigate. Or perhaps it was only forty-nine, she thought.

The snow was beautiful to behold, and it was almost everywhere. The others weren't as phased by it as she was, but they had probably seen Commonwealth, Maine and even Canadian snow before, whereas she had been trapped in Vault 81 her whole life before Nathan arrived and freed her. Curie knew that while a human body would be preferable to her in general, her robot body would be fine for the cold and windy conditions, as she could keep herself and to a lesser extent her comrades warm. Her lasers could even provide them a fire if necessary. The harsh landscape here would definitely take much to survive, but she had done plenty of that so far.

Curie could see the snow landing on her metal shell and slowly melting, though she noticed a lot of it didn't. She wished she could feel the sensation of it on skin like her friends, but that would be for another time. The trees were also tall and thriving here, possivly of the 'Ironwood' that was said to grow north of the wall in large quantities. The only areas south of the wall were the regions around Ironwrath, with the local Foresters knowing how to cultivate it, which she hoped she would one day learn. She started picking up small insects in jars and adding it to her pack of specimens to analyse for the lab. But this was no science mission, but a scouting and diplomacy one, military if necessary. She would wait.

"Sir! Look, footprints!" A lady cried out. They came over. These weren't some deer or radstag, they were human. Booted apparently. But one set looked too big. "Surely there were no supermutants here? No mutants were smart enough to use boats," she reasoned, "but then what are these?" She looked stupefied at the sight of such a danger.

"Well, Corporal Jenkins, that is an interesting point to raise. But just because we've never seen them, does that mean they can't?"

"The footprint is too big for a normal supermutant- only a behemoth could match or surpass it! There's no way that could fit on a boat."

"Aren't you being a bit irritable, Corporal? We're in a mission here. Anyway, scout the parameters, soldiers, and let us know on your radios if anything pops up. Dismissed!" The team of fifty or so split into groups of five or six, going out in different directions from the coast. Curie and the strange man went directly north in one of those teams.

They didn't spot any footprints for a while, only deer and rabbits with one head, similar to those that lived before the Great War on Earth. Occasionally, they saw large one headed Brahmin roaming around from place to place, known by the Westerosi as 'aurochs' for both singular and plural. She would love to catalogue such things and try seeing how they bred with the Brahmin she was used to, but not yet.

"Damn it," the Minutemen private known as Jenny said. "It's just snow and forest out here! Not many people to find. We haven't met a single Wildling in miles as far as I can tell. What, they all gone into hiding?" Curie recognised the accent as being from some area of New York, perhaps the outskirts considering the state of the city itself. Curie didn't like her much.

"Do you think the Nights Watch has better standards of action than this? They're supposed to fight off wildlings on a regular basis, so I imagine they see them quite regularly." Another one said as he looked at a bush for something, of which Curie couldn't see.

The light of day was hard to see due to the clouds, and even determining the time of day was hard for most men. She hadn't been fitted with an internal clock, and it was luck in her view that 'Planetos' had a similar day/night cycle to Earth. The position of the light made her think it was around two, maybe three PM.

"There will certainly be natives further in!" She exclaimed. More prey and food means more to feed human populations, that's how logistics of populations work."

"Fish also need to be taken into account though as a food source." Jenny was saying this again. "We could use the area near the coast to start a settlement. God knows there's dozens of settlers back in the Commonwealth who wouldn't mind going up here, and wildlings would flock for some civilisation. We could form a city or something up here!" Curie couldn't smile, but she would if she could.

"Indeed", said another one of her comrades, a twenty four year old male. "With that kind of thing, we could-" he was cut short.

A wooden arrow had gone through his throat, with the tip going two or three inches out the other side, covered in blood. He choked and coughed up blood and began to collapse, while the others looked around to see what was going on. Another arrow hit Curie, but it bounced off her metal frame. She turned and saw some men and women in fur coats and with spears and bows. These must have been natives!

"What are you doing here, strangers?" The man of the bow started. "You come from the south, yet you do not resemble any Westerosi or Essosi we've seen. Who are you? And what is that thing you are with?" He pointed his bow at Curie herself.

"I am Curie, a Miss Nanny robot programmed to provide assistance to humans of all kinds. We're-".

"No, we wish to talk to the human. We'll speak to you when we choose." This Wildling was a much bigger man than the archer, standing at least six feet and nine inches in height. He had a thick, shaggy brown beard, with his hair almost indistinguishable from it. The others in the group clearly respected him as his dressing was more elaborate than the others. "You?" He pointed to Jenny.

"We...we... we're with the Minutemen. We've been sent up here to establish contact with your people's, being civilisation here, and protect you from monsters, animal or human. We don't want war." Curie heard the man next to her whisper, clearly shaken by the death. "You're fucking kidding me, right? They're like raiders but more primitive!" She swatted him back.

"Help us? We've coped without your help alright so far, I don't see what you can offer. Other than telling us what those things in your hands are." The big Wildling spoke of the guns they were holding.

"These? These are guns! They make your bows and arrows, even Southern Crossbows look like children's toys! Just one of us could cut you and your village down if we wanted to, so don't even think about trying that again!" Jenny certainly had nerve, but she did have the superior weapons by far. Curie took note of this. "If anyone's taking someone hostage, it'll be us. So stand down before we put you down forever! Drop your weapons!"

The wildlings did exactly that.

"Now, show us where your camp is." Soon, the suspicious man came. Having put down Jenny's gun with his hand, he started acting kinder. "I'm sorry about this, she's agitated that you killed one of us, that's all. We don't want to bring harm to your people, we just want to help. Could you escort us to your camp?" He smiled and took off his glasses to seem more human. There were many things Curie presumed they had never seen before here.

"Very well," the fighter said solemnly. "My name's Vork the Mammoth-slayer. This is my wife Halla, the archer is Harren Quick-Eyes, and the men and women behind me are Yrom, Olmadill the Auroch's Horn, Mala the Wolf, and Marek One-Foot." Each man and woman nodded in the order their names were pronounced. "I'm sorry for the death of your friend, truly. It was an instinctual reaction that you were Watch men." It was true the dead Minutemen was wearing black on this occasion. "Well bury him when we get to the camp. Old Frigid Fjorn will wish to see your people very much." The Minutemen sighed with relief that the conflict was over and the larger group went on their way.

Jenny was in the radio. "Sir, we've found some wildlings who've 'volunteered' for our help. They're in this place called 'The Frostfangs.' Well inform you of any changes in the situation, sir. Over."

After a pause of about a minute as they walked north, a response came in. He sounded more groggily than before, as if he'd seen or felt something different.

"Excellent news, soldier. We'll need as many allies as we can. Most of the rest of us haven't been so lucky. Get there and conduct negotiations, then we can find our next course of action. Over." She turned to the others and said. "Alright then, let's go." They did.

After about seven miles or so of walking, they started seeing signs of settlement as people with long spears could be seen guarding some gap on the trees. They saw Vork and opened their spears leading them through the gap. A further one hundred metres or so through this place was all it took to get at the mountainous settlement.

"Wow, who'd have thought such a rich place would be present as cold as here?" The rowdy Minutemen, who's name was Randall exclaimed.

"Well, looks like there are." The shady man took off his glasses and whistled some time. He saw something to his left that shook him though, clearly. A family around a fire. _What could make him think so worryingly about that_ , Curie thought. She would find out sooner or later, that was for certain.

As they came over to the central camp, a grey haired man got up and escorted some playing children away. He smiled and embraced Vork with a hug, while he shook Harren's hand. He turned to the Minutemen and eyed them up. Already, Curie could see others staring at her and whisper to each other about her metallic appearance and alien physique. She tried to ignore them, but it was hard. The leader came and spoke.

"Hello, strangers," he said with a warm, kindly voice. "I am Fjorn, and I lead this tribe through these dark times. Our old leader perished fighting a bear, and I hope to avoid his mistakes as necessary. Welcome." His bright blue eyes and his facial structure indicated that he must once have been quite handsome, and perhaps could be again if he took care of his facial hair. Curie couldn't just fantasise about people she had barely met. He looked at her, and raised an eyebrow, appearing less surprised than she had anticipated.

"What is that? Some kind of metal kraken? That hovers like a dragonfly? These are truly strange times!" The man came over and patted Curie's central frame. She wasn't sure how to reply to that.

"I'm Curie, a Miss Nanny robot. I was built by humans before the War that destroyed our world. We found ourselves in yours not long ago, with all that entails. I can't understand the process that made it happen, but what we must do is try to cooperate despite our differences. Perhaps even because of them, as we have so much to learn from each other!"

Fjorn raised a curious eyebrow. "It joys me that such optimism is still around in such a hostile world, where everything is changing so much. Your lands have all been taken south of the Wall, but there are equally strange things north. Rumours and hearsay are what it started off as. But they've become so frequent, so consistent, that I wonder if there is truth to them. I've sent envoys to the fellow Free Man Craster, but no word has come back from them yet. We could use your help here, that's certain. No need for more war." He turned and pointed to some poorly made barracks, certainly far worse in quality and quantity to what she saw on Sanctuary, let alone the Castle or one of the southerner castles. This would need to change if civilisation could be brought up here.

With her laser, she could carve to precision no normal human could reach, fire at enemies from substantial differences, and set fires with ease, along with her jet on her poxterior. Her anatomy was very built for all sorts of tasks and this is what she would do to the best of her ability. She wasn't going to let the cold or fuel shortages stop her. She wasn't a Minutemen, but she was proud regardless!

Timber collected from the forests always proved useful in situations, particularly considering how rare it could be in the Commomwealth. The hard but slow burning types were the ones found here, so they gathered as much as they could.

Once the great fire was set, they all sat down and began to feast on a recently slaughtered Auroch bull. Of course Curie herself couldn't do this, but she could try regardless to converse. After a while of casual chat, the man who had come with her returned. He gestures to call her over, doubtlessly for something personal, which was strange.

"I think it's about time you knew who I am." He took off his wig and beard, revealing short hair and a clean shave. "My name is Deacon, and I'm a member of the Railroad. I've been following Nathan a while to see if he'll join our cause, but I felt compelled to follow you folk north, and so HQ gave me the order."

"I thought you and your people wished to help out synths and give them equality with humans and such?" She certainly seemed puzzled at the idea of a liberation front for synths going out of their way to a place with no synths she knew of.

"We want to bring equality and respect to our fellow man, even if they're a synth. There may not be synths here, but it is clear you would wish to be one, I can see in your tone that you hate being limited by the Miss Nanny body and wish to change. That's not the only thing." He sighed.

"There are thousands of innocents here, men, women, children you name it! And the people south of the Wall shoot at them, drive them off and bring a Wall to seperate them like animals! It's no wonder they're so hostile to southerners!" He started to be on the verge of a shout, but he took some breaths and went back to his quiet tone. "We want to help people like you Minutemen, but you aren't doing enough so far. We want to actually make sure all people are equal and have a chance. Man and woman, white and black, gay and straight, Wastelander and Westerosi, northerner and southerner, human, ghoul or synth. We have a noble aim in mind, and we are not going to stop until it's realised. Are you in with me?" He turned round to watch te others, who had given them curious looks.

She turned her left eye stalk subtly to his direction, looking him directly in the face and replied. "I am. The people deserve every chance they can get, and I will follow you where you need to go to help these people."

"Good." He smiled. She would have done it back if she could.

She already saw the members of her team helping around camp, along with more Minutemen teams coming in through the gate and greeting the wildlings, with Fjorn being friendly as always. _This could be the start of something glorious_ , she thought.


	19. Hancock (I)

He was awake again. As his consciousness regained, his thoughts returned to the battle at the Lonely Hills and the gunners who had been ambushed there. Even against a team of Minutemen, they were a force to be reckoned with. The pain was returning with consciousness too. He wished he was back in Goodneighbour, lording over the town and protecting it from outlaws and upstarts. _Those days were simpler,_ he thought as he almost dozed to sleep again. The pain and noises kept him awake though. Sometimes he would even think of Diamond City and his brother, in those old days.

He started opening his eyes. They were still groggy and wrinkly around the eyelids, a sign of his ghoul anatomy at its finest. As he blinked, he tried to see more clearly, but it was in vain. The room he was in was dark. Very dark. And his head hurt. By God, his head hurt!

His stomach was worse though. It was where the largest piece of shrapnel had been lodged in his stomach after he had seen the brute Strong and the Stark boy. He looked down slowly and found the shrapnel was gone, though the stitches weren't amazing. He'd love some jet right now. Or better yet, Med-X. Morphine would certainly help him in his current state. It was too dark to be comfortable her. The smell certainly didn't help. It was as if someone had died there.

More noises came from inside the cel, and footsteps came. He heard the creeping of a door opening.

Someone walked in.

"Milord, the Ghoul's awake now. What shall we do?"

Hancock wouldn't have minded giving that guard a good and dear thrashing, but he wasn't able to now. He couldn't hear the reply, and apparently neither could this shady guard with a torch. He approached. At this point Hancock noticed he was in chains around his arms and legs. This stuff was very durable, as even his toughest struggles did nothing- probably steel. Then again, he was struggling from some major injuries, without stimpaks and clearly with a slower mind. He must have been on some intense opioid like med-X or that 'milk of the poppy' he had heard Ned mention once or twice. He knew this was some type of pain relief, so it would be better not to fight it.

He saw the shady guard come out of the room and a new face came. The man had a black coat with pink banners over it, with te form of a red man on it, as if without his skin. He vaguely remembered the pink banners from the battle in the Godswood against the Gunners, seeing a pink man's banner before passing out. Now he could see in detail. The man wasn't particularly large in frame, in fact he was pretty skinny, and pale. Like, crazy pale, Hancock could hear himself think. It was more like the skin of a cadaver than of a living man. His eyes were at first glance a bright blue, but at second, he saw them for what they were; they looked Icy and grey, like light stones, though darker than milk. The guy had no facial expression on his face, hiding between locks of straight black hair and thin lips. He had heard about this man, but couldn't remember the name. His torch was then gathered towards some of the candles, which were soon lit. After lighting the rest of the torches, he came over to Hancock.

"I see you're awake. You've been out for a few days now. The Royal forces have now gone south to discuss matters regarding the other lands as well as the situation regarding Jaime Lannister. News reports that Tywin is certainly not happy with this news and wishes to purge the "super mutants" completely off the continent, like the Reynes and Tarbecks. I would certainly wish to obtain at least some myself before that happens. But enough about those matters. Do your injuries still hurt?" He got out his curved knife to see if there was anything present.

"Well, Lord, Lord...?"

"Bolton. Roose Bolton." The man used his cloak to clean the dagger. "I had to cut out some of the infected flesh while you were unconscious. The shrapnel from the Vertibird was rusted and had blood residue over it, so there was a chance of infection. I've read up a few of your Wastelander books on the matter, you see. Very useful. Now, do they still hurt?"

"'Fraid they still do, especially the gut. Aaaaaah!" He cried as a sharp pain came there.

"What seems to be the problem this time?" The creepy Lord asked. "The vague way you struggle doesn't allow me to distinguish the source of the pain."

"Sorry, man. It's in the...ugh! It's the left side of the tear." He took a breather.

Bolton looked closer, and noted, without changing his expression at all. "Ah, it seems the stitching was done poorly here, perhaps elsewhere too. I will make sure the one who stitched that is punished appropriately for their misdeed."

"Thanks, man." He itched as he stretched in his chair. "Aaah. Do you happen to have any Chems or anything like that around here? A stimpak could make this a bit on the redundant side."

"I'm afraid not, for the only Chems we acquired in the battle are small in number and are being tested for their uses currently. These 'stimpaks' certainly sound intriguing though, if they are as you Wastelanders claim, which from what we've seen is usually true. You may wonder what happened to the attackers earlier, I presume?"

"Yeah, sure." Hancock replied. "We sure showed those bastards hell! Shame we didn't find Bran or Strong though. Now we have to do more hunting once we're gone from here, and we have no trail really. That reminds me. How did you even get to us so easily?" This was genuinely intriguing, as the Bolton army seems to have appeared at a convenient time indeed.

"We had information regarding the gunners from some northern settlers who had illegally entered our territory. Of course the gunners were a far larger threat to safety so we went to them first. A group of about two dozen or so even attacked the Dreadfort, and I lost a number of men to their weapons before I managed to bribe them off. Their superiors refused to accept this and continued their attacks across the Northern lands." He came over and picked up a glass next to Hancock. Hancock felt powerless as the cold Lord eyed him up, and he smiled nervously. It was the best he could do.

"The gunners were already occupied hunting smallfolk and engaging the Starks and Minutemen. Of course, even my best men and the limited guns we had acquired from Wastelanders couldn't down Vertibirds, but forces on the grounds certainly were taken by surprise. Some of the gunners did survived our assault of course. My son is taking care of them...in his own way of course. I wished to personally examine you of course. Your anatomy is...fascinating. How did you become like that?"

"Radiation, dear Watson!" Roose gave him a look of the subtlest confusion. "Umm, yeah, one time I was looking forward to buying this new chem get high. Like, really high, till I was off my face. That was the purpose. This new one was way tougher than I had expected, and it's that one that irradiated me to hell and back and turned me into this thing. Happened to many others too."

Roose raised an eyebrow, clearly wanting to hear more.

Hancock continued. "You see, we ghouls thrive off radiation, being not just immune to it, but healed by it. I'm one of the youngest ones. Some were around well before the War, 210 years ago in our world. Of course, many lose their minds as well and turn feral, losing all capacity to reason, think or even self preserve. Mindless animals that only can hope to be put down. I hope I never become like that."

"Truly fascinating." The leech Lord continued as he extracted a leach from under his coat and put it in a jar full of the things. "You'll have to tell me where I can find these 'ferals' in decent quantities to make an analysis. The key to such long life would certainly be useful to have, without the...aesthetic problems of being a ghoul. And what of the Strong creature and his kind?"

"Super mutants? Well, they're a pretty scary bunch, thats for sure. Humans infected with the Forced Evolutionary Virus, making them develop into hulking green savages. They're sterile, but they don't age at all like we do, plus they're damned powerful-turns all their body's fat into extra muscle to boo. Normal ones are like seven foot-ten and six hundred pounds, all of which is muscle and anger. Strong's even bigger than normal, probably eight foot-eight if I remember correctly. Whether he's older or just a freak, I can't say. They can rip a man apart with their bare hands and then eat him in front of his friends, without any qualms, only caring about other mutants usually. As they get older, they also get bigger and angrier till they become behemoths, the biggest animals I've ever seen. Biggest ones can reach fifteen, eighteen, even twenty feet tall! Four or five tons of rage and hunger. Not something to mess with."

He raised an eyebrow. "It would be excellent to have some samples directly available so I could test your evidence. The use the mutants could be is impossible to deny. Anything else you know?"

"Well, there are the many chems that I happen to love, even if I can't control myself with them. They can do almost anything you want them to do to you, as long as you don't get hooked, then its almost impossible to break without help."

"Chems that enhance combat potential and alertness will also be useful to discuss. I'm sure you'd be of use when discussing such matters, and testing any additions to the formulas."

Hancock sure would have liked new drugs, regardless of how dangerous they could be. He nodded to this proposition for at least a business opportunity. But Roose wasn't exactly the kind of company he was keen on. He spotted some blood on the floor not far from his chair.

"Got a big patch of dried blood there, Lord Bolton. An operation here go bad or something?"

"You could say that, yes." He looked up as he prepared some tools.

"Regardless, I'm still on board with your gunner killing and training scheme. A bit more security for both our lands could only be a good thing."

"Glad to know you're on board with things here. The North, Riverlands, Iron Islands and the Vale are all reporting insurgents of human and non-human nature, and the other kingdoms certainly have issues that only the Weirwoods know for certain. It's always useful to have friends in such hard times, wouldn't you agree?"

He grabbed a bottle of vodka this time. This didn't look good.

"Errm, you like vodka now?" Hancock said nervously, anticipating what would happen.

"I have to say it's not a bad drink in and of itself, if a bit strong. It's definitely good for tending to wounds by sterilising."

"Surely, you've already sterilised the wounds by now! That stuff'll hurt like shit!"

"I've tended to the ones on your guy and knee, but not to your head injury. That will need to be dealt with if you are to come out freely. Now, let me tend." His voice was quiet and gentle, and yet it was some of the most terrifying dialogue he had ever heard. No raider or gunner made his skin crawl more than the quiet and cold tone of this voice. Like the coldest ice. He braced himself for the pain. A cloth was put over the cut.

It came.

He screamed like never before in his life. Bolton was indifferent and unphased by this. He could feel the sweat going down his face at the pain. It only got worse as he used some tweezers to pick something out. It was if a piece of his brain was taken out. He twitched his eye and looked.

"It was another shrapnel piece. Could have been dangerous if left to linger. Lord Stark and his Nathan friend certainly wouldn't wish you dead, so it's hardly worth the risk to have that metal in your head. I'm sure you'd agree there." He dropped into a tray and turned back to him. "It's over. You should have some time to rest once you get out of your restraints. There's some space in the halls." He unfastened the restraints and Hancock was free again. "Your uniform is there in the chest. I recommend you be presentable before the others before matters are discussed regarding the growing political tension."

Hancock got up and changed into his normal attire. He brushed his outfit down. "What is the political situation like, with the Lannisters, Stannis and all of those things? The Institute is still a threat to everyone around. And then there's the rumours. King Robert's just brushed those accusations aside for now due to lack of real evidence , but he definitely has suspicions. As do I."

"Robert is often reluctant to listen to advice, even good advice. Letting the knight Barristan Selmy, an avid Targaryen supporter into his Kingsguard was surely a bad decision, and will certainly come back to haunt us in the future. But for now, the lords and ladies are doing what they can to prevent war. It isn't working." The two started walking out.

"That was...interesting, I'll be honest." The ghoul said. "Thank you for, you know, not letting me die at that battle. It's appreciated, and I'm sure the others have use for me." Roose didn't reply, but he did notice some people coming up to greet Roose. One was a Minutemen based on their dress, the rest were Bolton bannermen seemingly.

"Ah, Steelshanks. How has your scouting gone? Have the last outlaws been disposed of?" The Lord of the Dreadfort maintained the same tone he had the whole time in the medical chamber. _This guy must have no emotions or something!_

"Of course, my Lord. Some simply ran off after we told them the fates of their friends. The raiders seemed to be...aroused by it, but the gunners ran off as soon as they heard the news. We shouldn't be seeing any in the near future, they seem to be retreating back to the Commonwealth for now."

"Ah, good. Fortunate our borders are protected. " He turned to the minuteman guest. "I presume you are pleased by our standards of hospitality?"

"Well, my Lord, it's more complicated than that. My associates have said...eye-opening things regarding you and your followers. If they are true, the things are not acceptable. At all."

"What things is he talking about?" Hancock started.

Roose turned to him. "Fictions. That or some of my soldiers are acting against their orders. They shall be punished in due time. The people surely need protection, do they not?"

The Minuteman turned down. "Indeed they do. I hope to see how things improve here, Lord Bolton."

"As do I. It seems more business is on the way."

From the hall came another new face. This one looked the part to Roose's thinner frame, with this one being a bulkier, uglier specimen. His hair was dark and somewhat curled, giving him a feral appearance. He had broad shoulders and a barrel like chest, a sign of decent strength along with thin lips and the odd red blotch on his face. And the same ice eyes, like glaciers. They had to be related! He wiped something red off one of his hands. His voice seemed vaguely pleasant, much more emotionally variable than Roose's, yet almost as blood curdling-the kind that the most vicious raiders possessed, a feeling of barely holding back some animalistic depravity. "Ah, father, how are things with you?" He smiled with a pleasant charm, or an attempt at it at least. Truth be told, the man had no charm at all.

"Ah, Ramsay. I presume your accommodation to the gunner survivors went well? I was introducing guests to our castles and tending to a guest's injuries." Ramsay first turned to the Minuteman and Steelshanks. He reluctantly nodded to the latter and eyed up the former. He shrugged and turned back to his father before seeing the next.

"And where is your guest that you've been tending too? I never saw you as the tender type, father."

Roose waved a hand. "Behind you. He is one of the Wastelanders you may have heard about. Not a savage one either."

He grinned at seeing Hancock. "Wow, what a sight you are! I am Ramsay of House Bolton, heir to the Dreadfort, and you are truly welcome here under our roof." He took out his gloved hand to shake. Hancock took it out and reluctantly shook. He saw red.

"Nice to meet you." He replied. "Looks like you got something red on your glove, by the way."

"Oh, I have. I must have spelled some wine there." He glanced down, wiped it off and eyed up Hancock top to bottom. "I guess your injuries must truly have been savage over in that land of yours! It looks like someone set you on fire and stabbed you afterwards." He clearly was mocking. "I guess you're a Wastelander from your dress and appearance. Friends with that 'Sole Survivor'? What's your name?" He was being irritating now.

"Name's John Hancock. Yeah, me and Nathan go back not that long, but it feels a lot longer. Especially with all these worlds combining- literally in your case. And regarding my looks, I'm a ghoul and this is what happens when you mutate from radiation. I know I'm not pretty by your human standards, but I live really long I get healed by radiation and I enjoy life, that's what matters, I think. Got injured by those idiot gunners you have. Send them my regards, will ya?" The bastard son nodded with a scowl and went back to his father, who had been more or less silent through the conversation. Or perhaps he hadn't, given how quiet he was.

"I presume our guest is up to your standards? If not, then there's always more. Hancock will be leaving soon anyway. He needs to go back down south to the council. Something about contacting Kings Landing. How did your hunt go this morning?"

"Quite well actually. They made a good hunt and the trophy was better than average at least, if not the best I have in my collection. Sh-" his father glanced. "-it did squirm too much while I butchered. Nevertheless, there are certainly worse ways to begin a day, I'd say." Hancock really couldn't tell what kind of animal Ramsay preferred to hunt in his spare time. "How long has he been here?" Hancock knew Ramsay was speaking of him.

"Six days so far. He's welcome to stay another if he needs time to rest. I've allocated some private chambers for the night, to protect privacy for both our parties of course. You shall respect him and any he contacts while he is here, and that is non-negotiable. Also, do not presume to call yourself a member of my house under my roof, you have no such legitimacy here as of yet. Understood, bastard?"

The youth scowled. "Of course, father." and he was off back down the hallway, presumably to whatever he was doing with the surviving gunners.

"Children. They are certainly a different experience to any other I know, and a definite nuisance. Make yourself at home, for soon you will be out of here and on your way back. Have a pleasant day, John Hancock." He took Steelshank's shoulder with his hand and lead him and the Minuteman under some other discussion. Hancock now had the rest of the day to kill. He looked in his pocket.

Turns out he did have some jet after all.

 _Looks like I know what I'm doing all night_ , he thought.


	20. Eddard (II)

The journey south was long and difficult, and had been delayed by over a week by the kidnapping of Bran and of the situations of savages of many forms attacking the Realm. The other day, the had fought off what Nathan called a 'deathclaw' and lost several men to it. This was a frightening creature like any dragon. At least the dragons were dead.

After stopping to purchase some firearms from some Wastelander traders, they were now on the Kingsroad, moving through the North towards Kings Landing, in their way back to the capital to negotiate the various changes that were happening and at least attempt to stop a devastating war.

Enemies were rising in all directions, old and new, and this was becoming stressful. His own lands were being hurt by monsters and vile men, as were his Tully friends, and magic was rising. It was too much to think about all at once. Ned had taken the chance he could to sleep once again. They didn't last long.

Summons came in the hour before the dawn, when the world was still and grey.

Alyn shook him roughly from his dreams and Ned stumbled into the predawn chills, groggy from sleep, to find his horse saddled and the king already mounted. Nathan's self-made tent was in the distance, but was clearly empty, as it seemed that he too had left early on for some duty or another. His dog was at the gates, though.

Robert wore thick brown gloves and a heavy fur cloak with a hood that covered his ears, and looked for all the world like a bear sitting a horse. He looked as if he had lost weight quite quickly following the attempt on his life. Since they journeyed down, he must have lost at least two or three stone. On the other hand, his skin had a slight burned look to it. "Up, Stark!" he roared. "Up, up! We have matters of state to discuss."

"By all means," Ned said. "Come inside, Your Grace." Alyn lifted the flap of the tent.

"No, no, no," Robert said. His breath steamed with every word. "The camp is full of ears. Besides, I want to ride out and taste this country of yours." Ser Boros and Ser Meryn waited behind him with over two dozen guardsmen and a few Minutemen sharpshooters, Ned saw. Security really needed tightening now. There was nothing to do but rub the sleep from his eyes, dress, and mount up.

The robot known as Codsworth hovered over to him. "Care for a breakfast snack before you go, Lord Stark?" He took out some strange bar of oats and raisins. Eddard took it and ate as he got dressed. The taste was sweet, which he did not care for, but it was supposed to be full of nutrients that would help the body, so that he would be energised for the rest of the day. He also took the orange juice Codsworth had prepared. After nodding in approval to the Mr Handy, he headed over to begin the journey.

Robert set the pace, driving his huge black destrier hard as Ned galloped along beside him, trying to keep up. He called out a question as they rode, but the wind blew his words away, and the king did not hear him. After that Ned rode in silence. They soon left the kingsroad and took off across rolling plains dark with mist. By then the guard had fallen back a small distance, safely out of earshot, but still Robert would not slow.

Dawn broke as they xame to the top of a hill near the towns to the north of Moat Cailin and such, overlooking the great beauty of the chilly North, and finally the king pulled up. By then they were miles south of the main party. Robert was flushed and exhilarated as Ned reined up beside him. "Gods," he swore, laughing, "it feels good to get out and ride the way a man was meant to ride! I swear, Ned, this creeping along is enough to drive a man mad." He had never been a patient man, Robert Baratheon. "That damnable wheelhouse, the way it creaks and groans, climbing every bump in the road as if it were a mountain . . . I promise you, if that wretched thing breaks another axle, I'm going to burn it to the ground!"

Ned laughed. "I will gladly light the torch for you."

"Good man!" The king clapped him on the shoulder. "I've half a mind to leave them all behind and just keep going."

A smile touched Ned's lips. "I do believe you mean it."

"I do, I do," the king said. "What do you say, Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the kingsroad, our swords at our sides and the gods know what in front of us, monsters to slay like the Knights of legend, drinks of all sorts, and maybe a farmer's daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight."

"Would that we could," Ned said, "but we have duties now, my liege . . . to the realm, to the people, to our children, I to my lady wife and you to your queen. The world we once knew is being turned upside down more and more each day, and while there is much to look forward to, there are many things to fear. We are not the boys we were."

"You were never the boy you were," Robert grumbled. "More's the pity. And yet there was that one time . . . what was her name, that common girl of yours? Becca? No, she was one of mine, gods love her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in them. Yours was . . . Aleena? No. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I mean, your bastard's mother?"

"Her name was Wylla," Ned replied with cool courtesy, "and I would sooner not speak of her."

"Wylla. Yes." The king grinned. "She must have been a rare wench if she could make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honor, even for an hour. You never told me what she looked like . . . "

Ned's mouth tightened in anger. "Nor will I. Leave it be, Robert, for the love you say you bear me. I dishonored myself and I dishonored Catelyn, in the sight of gods and men." For he knew the price he must pay for duty, when the truth was too dangerous to let live.

"Gods have mercy, you scarcely knew Catelyn."

"I had taken her to wife. She was carrying my child."

"You are too hard on yourself, Ned. You always were. Damn it, no woman wants Baelor the Blessed in her bed." He slapped a hand on his knee. "Well, I'll not press you if you feel so strong about it, though I swear, at times you're so prickly you ought to take the hedgehog as your sigil. And I thought Nathan was prudish with women! But at least he has the excuse of a widower. You're just a miserable git!"

Ned sighed and they continued on their way. They neared an open territory and they saw curious sights. A pair of deer were in the move together. The stag, sigil of his friend's house and of their predecessors the Durrandons of Storm's End, was normal in its built. But the doe was certainly not.

"By the gods, Ned! It has two heads! And it's green! Never seen anything like that before!" It was truly a strange creature with glowing green patches and patchy fur, and yet it was with normal deer. It appeared to be pregnant. Hybrids were coming. But they weren't hear to sight see, so they went on.

The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. He thought he could see flashes of green and red, but it must have been his tired eyes. In the distance was the city which had changed the fate of the North; this mysterious 'Boston'. Ned never thought that he would enter such a place voluntarily, but should duty call it, he would follow his king. He did not wish to think of the city too much, for that was where Jon was to head. Ned pointed the barrows out to his king. "The Barrows of the First Men."

Robert frowned. "Have we ridden onto a graveyard?"

"There are ruins like this all around the continent, Your Grace," Ned told him. "This land is as old as the First Men themselves."

"Damned right it is, And cold," Robert grumbled, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. The guard had reined up well behind them, at the bottom of the ridge. "Well, I did not bring you out here to talk of graves or bicker about your bastard. There was a rider in the night, from Lord Varys in King's Landing. It appears things are going to shit. Here." The king pulled two pieces of paper from his belt and handed one to Ned.

Varys the eunuch was the king's master of whisperers. He served Robert now as he had once served Aerys Targaryen. Ned unrolled the paper with trepidation, thinking of Lysa and her terrible accusation, and the recent attempt on Robert's life, but both of these things and more did not concern Lady Arryn. "What is the source for this information?"

"Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?"

"Would that I might forget him," Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the North, something illegal in Westeros for thousands of years. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. Five years had passed since then.

"Ser Jorah is on his way to Vaes Dothrak from Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile," Robert explained. "Lord Varys makes good use of him."

"So the slaver has become a spy," Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. "I would rather he become a corpse."

"Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses," Robert said. "Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?"

"Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord and is moving eastwards. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?"

The king frowned. "A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it. The end of that dynasty will do all the world a favour."

Ned did not feign surprise; Robert's hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar's wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, "I see no babes. Only dragonspawn." Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna's death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.

This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. "Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents." It was said that Rhaegar's little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin's soldiers had torn him from his mother's breast and dashed his head against a wall. He didn't want to think about happened to his wife, Elia Martell of Dorne.

"And how long will this one remain an innocent?" Robert's mouth grew hard. "This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me. And who knows, maybe more lands and cities from that damned wasteland will appear up there and ally with her. On the other hand, they could snuff her out. We need to end that vile dynasty as soon as we can."

"Nonetheless," Ned said, "the murder of children . . . it would be vile . . . unspeakable . . . "

"Unspeakable?" the king roared. "What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar . . . how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?" His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beneath him. The king jerked the reins hard, quieting the animal, and pointed an angry finger at Ned. "I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves."

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert's thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. "You can't get your hands on this one, can you?" he said quietly.

The king's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. "No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he's handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him."

"Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand."

Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. "Indeed, I can't argue with that." As soon as he said and before Ned could respond, a familiar face showed up, Nathan.

"Sorry to interrupt, your grace, and Lord Stark. I'd been defending the area. Robots have been roaming around and attacking people, I need to get to the bottom of that situation and help the people. Are you just hanging out now at the moment?"

"I'm afraid not, Nathan. We were talking about matters of the realm and what is happening, I'm not sure you should be here." Ned may have been familiar with Nathan after all that happened, but he was certainly not as close as Robert or Howland. "You can wait with the others."

The Sole Survivor became visibly irritated. "With all-due respect, Lord Stark, I'm supposed to be working on your Small Council, and as someone familiar with the Wastwland, both with my world and with general politics, I need to be of use somehow.

"Just stay out of this one for the god's sake!" Robert interjected. "The second letter will be of use for you to be involved, but this one is more confidential." He handed over the letter to the man. "You can read it in your own time. I hope that you can resolve this as soon as possible."

"Of course your grace." The survivor said as he went up north to meet the rest of the camp.

Robert returned to the old conversation. "Now then, where were we? Was it something about that blasted dragon's whore?"

"Indeed it was", as Eddard started. Arguing at this point would only waste time.

"This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?"

"He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea," Ned replied calmly. "The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea. The 'poison waters' are a superstition their people hold with great reverence."

The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "Perhaps. But given all that is happened, perhaps things we think are impossible may not be. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities and beyond, and who knows if she may gather the coin to hire them? I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for the Targaryens in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him. And the realm will suffer again."

"He will not cross," Ned promised. "And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—"

The king groaned. "For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child."

Ned was ready for that. "Yet we still must have a Warden of the East. If Robert Arryn will not do, name one of your brothers. Stannis proved himself at the siege of Storm's End, surely."

He let the name hang there for a moment. The king frowned and said nothing. He looked uncomfortable.

"That is," Ned finished quietly, watching, "unless you have already promised the honor to another."

For a moment Robert had the grace to look startled. Just as quickly, the look became annoyance. "I had. But not anymore."

"You wished to make Jaime Lannister warden of the East? As if the Lannisters didn't have enough power."

Robert kicked his horse back into motion and started down the hill toward the barrows below. Ned kept pace with him. The king rode on, eyes straight ahead. "Yes," he said at last. A single hard word to end the matter.

"He was one of the most dishonourable men in the entire realm. If he could betray Aerys, he could have betrayed you with just as much ease, especially if the rumours are true. But he's dead now. You shouldn't have given so much power to the Lannisters over your own sibling. Tywin Lannister already guards over the West; would it truly have been wise to give that house half the realm under our control"

Robert huffed. "Looks like it's too late for that."

Ned continued. "Exactly. Now with his son dead, Tywin will want blood. It is quite likely ours will be among it, just for being proxy to Strong the mutant. He will try to raise Boston and our allies to the ground, and who knows where he would stop should he no longer bend to the Crown. "

"I will fight that battle when the enemy appears on the field," the king said stubbornly. "At the moment, Lord Tywin looms eternal as Casterly Rock, and my wife and son are seeing him soon too. Don't vex me about this, Ned, I did what I had to do."

"Your Grace, may I speak frankly?"

"I seem unable to stop you," Robert grumbled. They rode through tall brown grasses.

"Why are you so hesitant to see Stannis in a position of real authority? I mean he should be the ruler of Storm's End were it not for you."

"He may be my brother, but he's a cold one at that. He was stuck in Storms End while we fought the real war. He failed to kill Viserys and his whore mother too, I'd say he deserved that bunch of windswept rocks."

"He still contributed far more than Renly did," Ned pointed out. "And even more so for the Greyjoy rebellion."

"That may be true, but do you really think he has the material to rule? He has no reputation with the people, almost no friends, and to top it, he has disdain for my children. And if the other letter is true, he seems to be cosying towards another Wastelander group now. Hardly someone whom we should avoid suspicion on. But we'll cover that later. Courting the Lannisters and trying to prevent Tywin's revenge spree is the first thing we should have on our minds, not the last!"

"Robert, those Lannisters are treacherous, and they 'always pay their debts'. Even Tyrion was unforgiving regarding what happened to Jaime. Think of how Cersei and Tywin will react. Remember what Tywin did to King's Landing! And that's not even starting on what Jaime did to his own King!" He felt his voice rise with a hint of anger.

"Seven hells, someone had to kill Aerys and his filthy spawn!" Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt beside an ancient barrow. "If Jaime hadn't done it, it would have been left for you or me."

"We were not Sworn Brothers of the Kingsguard," Ned said. The time had come for Robert to hear the whole truth, he decided then and there. "Do you remember the Trident, Your Grace?"

"I won my crown there. How should I forget it?"

"You took a wound from Rhaegar," Ned reminded him. "So when the Targaryen host broke and ran, you gave the pursuit into my hands. The remnants of Rhaegar's army fled back to King's Landing. We followed. Aerys was in the Red Keep with several thousand loyalists. I expected to find the gates closed to us."

Robert gave an impatient shake of his head. "Instead you found that our men had already taken the city. What of it?"

"Not our men," Ned said patiently. "Lannister men. The lion of Lannister flew over the ramparts, not the crowned stag. And they had taken the city by treachery."

The war had raged for close to a year. Lords great and small had flocked to Robert's banners; others had remained loyal to Targaryen. The mighty Lannisters of Casterly Rock, the Wardens of the West, had remained aloof from the struggle, ignoring calls to arms from both rebels and royalists. Aerys Targaryen must have thought that his gods had answered his prayers when Lord Tywin Lannister appeared before the gates of King's Landing with an army twelve thousand strong, professing loyalty. So the Mad King had ordered his last mad act. He had opened his city to the lions at the gate.

"Treachery was a coin the Targaryens knew well," Robert said. The anger was building in him again. "Lannister paid them back in kind. It was no less than they deserved. I shall not trouble my sleep over it."

"You were not there," Ned said, bitterness in his voice. Troubled sleep was no stranger to him. He had lived his lies for fourteen years, yet they still haunted him at night. "There was no honor in that conquest."

"The Others take your honor!" Robert swore. "What did any Targaryen ever know of honor? Go down into your crypt and ask Lyanna about the dragon's honor!"

"You avenged Lyanna at the Trident," Ned said, halting beside the king. Promise me, Ned, she had whispered.

"That did not bring her back." Robert looked away, off into the grey distance. "The gods be damned. It was a hollow victory they gave me. A crown . . . it was the girl I prayed them for. Your sister, safe . . . and mine again, as she was meant to be. I ask you, Ned, what good is it to wear a crown? The gods mock the prayers of kings and cowherds alike."

"I cannot answer for the gods, Your Grace . . . only for what I found when I rode into the throne room that day," Ned said. "Aerys was dead on the floor, drowned in his own blood. His dragon skulls stared down from the walls. Lannister's men were everywhere. Jaime wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard over his golden armor. I can see him still. Even his sword was gilded. He was seated on the Iron Throne, high above his knights, wearing a helm fashioned in the shape of a lion's head. How he glittered!"

"This is well known," the king complained.

"I was still mounted. I rode the length of the hall in silence, between the long rows of dragon skulls. It felt as though they were watching me, somehow. I stopped in front of the throne, looking up at him. His golden sword was across his legs, its edge red with a king's blood. My men were filling the room behind me. Lannister's men drew back. I never said a word. I looked at him seated there on the throne, and I waited. At last Jaime laughed and got up. He took off his helm, and he said to me, 'Have no fear, Stark. I was only keeping it warm for our friend Robert. It's not a very comfortable seat, I'm afraid.' "

The king threw back his head and roared. His laughter startled a flight of crows from the tall brown grass. They took to the air in a wild beating of wings. "You think I should mistrust a Lannister because one of them sat on my throne for a few moments?" He shook with laughter again. "Jaime was all of seventeen, Ned. Scarce more than a boy."

"Boy or man, he had no right to that throne."

"Perhaps he was tired," Robert suggested. "Killing kings is weary work. Gods know, there's no place else to rest your ass in that damnable room. And he spoke truly, it is a monstrous uncomfortable chair. In more ways than one." The king shook his head. "Well, now I know Jaime's dark sin, but there is no point holding grudges against a man who helped forge my realm, especially in death. I am heartily sick of secrets and squabbles and matters of state, Ned. It's all as tedious as counting coppers. I miss the days if just fighting, fucking and hunting. Perhaps those days are coming back, as our friend Nathan shows."

"That reminds me, Your Grace." Ned interceded. "What was in the second letter generally?"

Robert sighed. "Many things. A wastelander group known as the 'Brotherhood of Steel' has travelled over to King's Landing in a giant 'air-ship' and an army powerful enough to overthrow an empire! My sweet brother Stannis has reportedly been in contact with them too. The gods know he needed more allies!"

"And what else, my leige?"

"The small council are reporting new affairs. A decline in the price of Highgarden's grapes, the prominence of this new corn that the maesters are spreading across the gardens to harvest, Littlefinger's brothels. That kind of rubbish. Well, Renly's claiming that another piece of the Wasteland has joined his lands too. Supposedly that cursed Targaryen ruin has been replaced with something new and dangerous, though I can hardly complain about less Targaryen memorabilia around."

"Surely we should investigate that too, Your Grace? There are only so many lands that we can cope with at the moment. It was only your decree that made me leave the North right now."

"Renly and Mace can deal with whatever dread things come out of Summerhall. Once again, we'll meet that enemy when it's at our gates." He jutted himself in his seat and stood up more. "Come, let's ride, you used to know how. I want to feel the wind in my hair again." He kicked his horse back into motion and galloped up over the barrow, raining earth down behind him.

For a moment Ned did not follow. He had run out of words, and he was filled with a vast sense of helplessness. Not for the first time, he wondered what he was doing here and why he had come. He was no Jon Arryn, to curb the wildness of his king and teach him wisdom. Robert would do what he pleased, as he always had, and nothing Ned could say or do would change that. He belonged in Winterfell, protecting his realm from unspeakable terrors. He belonged with Catelyn in her grief, longing for the child they were missing. He belonged with Robb, training him to be the next Lord of Winterfell. He belonged with Sansa and Arya, teaching them how to be good ladies and wives for future husbands. He belonged with Rickon, helping nurture him and bring him to maturity. He belonged in the Godswood, looking for his lost son and hoping to bring the beast to justice. And he belonged with Jon, hoping to set things right for the boy's mother. .

A man could not always be where he belonged, though. Resigned, Eddard Stark put his boots into his horse and set off after the king, waiting for whatever would come next.


	21. Yandel (II)

Their time in Goodneighbor was going extremely well. While none of the women were interested in having companionship with them, they were quite popular among the locals. Cressen had tried to flirt with the singer Magnolia, only to be utterly put down in his efforts. Being many years too old for her certainly hasn't helped with that. Yandel was only twenty-six years old, a Maester of six years, and he could know that he was not that type. But that was not what Yandel had come to find out.

As knowledgeable outsiders, they had been treated as esteemed guests there, particularly by Whitechapel Charlie's clique. He had even sent the guards to clean out a building full of trigger men. Studying their guns had truly been fascinating. Working out how the leavers worked, this gunpowder, which they compared to a lesser version of wildfire, and the concoctions of the various drinks being served. Not one of them had dared visit the memory booth though. So far. Tonight was another night of 'testing the drinks' and their properties. Yandel was definitely not thinking straight.

"Get me another one, Charlie!" He asked to the robot at the bar. He didn't seem happy from his reply.

"Haven't you had enough? Mixing drinks is never a good idea. Someone could mug you while you're unconscious, and we'd have to launch another manhunt. Which wouldn't be good in my book."

Yandel grabbed another martini off the counter. He had exchanged his stags for bottlecaps now, so he had plenty of drinking money to go with. He had sent multiple Ravens over to the Citadel, including details on Qyburn's perversions, but only one had come back earlier, which he hadn't read. He could fuss about that at a later point. His head was already fuzzy and his vision felt like the core of reality was shaking. But he craved this drink to an extent he had never known in a drink. He took a shot of it all in one and and moaned. He tried talking to Charlie and to some settlers, but they continued in their mundane conversations he could not hear. He took one step to the side off his seat and collapsed. He thought he could see another Maester heading towards him, but it was hard to tell at this point. He passed.

Once he woke up, he saw himself in a chair of some kind. His hands and feet were roped to it, and the chair itself was metal. Something certainly wasn't right. Then the pain came.

This was easily one of the worst feelings he had ever felt in his head. He could not remember the night before, not at all. Only that he was here, and that the building he was in wasn't a normal one. It must have been one of the top stories of the buildings in Goodneighbour. Or at least that was what he reasoned. Perhaps the Triggermen had got to him! He wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

He he found a shard of glass on the floor and edged towards it in his chair. He could cut the ropes and free himself before the hostile ones came and took him away for whatever horrible fate they had in mind. He edged closer by shaking the chair towards it.

He heard a door open somewhere distantly.

Now he needed to be quick! He started to reach towards the shard with his restrained hands. He began to rock the chair to make sure he could reach it easier. It was only marginally working.

 _If if only they'd taught me the skills to do this at the Citadel!,_ he thought as he worked his fingers out. He could hear footsteps coming up stairs. _Quick!_

The chairs rocking soon became more and more intense as he put more and more effort into it. It seemed to be working, at least. But then he fell. Now he was more frantic than ever. As he edged towards the piece of glass, the figure had come up the stairs and was staring back at him.

"Yandel! I see you've awoke!" It was Coleman this time. The fool!

"Why did you lock me up in this dreaded building? We seem to be far away from Goodneighbour now thanks to you! How could you do this, when I was...so vulnerable?" His head was aching even more now, and the anger wasn't helping. Or the splinters in his cheek from the chipped wood. Coleman was still smiling.

"Calm down! We just played a bit of a joke on you. It's not like we have to study all of the time here! The citadel aren't watching us 24/7, so we can afford to have some fun now, as you clearly have already."

"Alright, help me back up and out of these restraints, they're pulling in my skin!" Coleman got there and undid his restrains. Yandel could now get up and shake the dust off his clothes and feet. "Do we have a reason for being here?"

"Yes, we've bought a flat here. Or were given one by Farenheit after our information exchanges. Either way, it's pretty spacious. We only tied you up to prevent you from hurting yourself, but it appears that didn't work." He turned and smirked. "Please forgive us, brother, we've got work to do here as well. Can't just have you drinking our money away." The two started walking down the stairs. They were creaky, despite being made of concrete, and the wooden walls didn't feel exactly secure.

"Did we ever find out what happened to Cressen?" Yandel asked.

"There's been the occasional bit of signal coming through over some days, but overall not much as come. It could be that he's been killed and someone else has taken it. Or something. Or it could be he just hasn't had the chance to contact us. We'll find out soon." They went down the third flight of stairs after this.

Yandel asked "how big is this building? It seems a bit big for four Maesters and a guard, especially if rooms are shared."

Coleman laughed. "Don't worry, youth. We each have our own floor. The man in the hotel called it an 'en suite' which means we each have our own showers, baths, toilet and such. We have better accommodation then we ever had there. We should at least use it."

"Shower, toilet? What is the former and how is the latter replacement for a privy?"

"The former sends us water from above and allows us to wash ourselves far quicker than a bath, the latter is a like a privy but we don't have to throw it out a window or into a river. They all lead down connected pipes and is filtered safely to make new drinkable water. Isn't it incredible!" He seemed genuinely happy to talk about the technological investments that were being made in Goodneighbor, which wasn't even the largest settlement in the region. "Better than renting out that Triggermen's hotel, surely?" They seemed to be on the ground floor now.

"Indeed." Yandel said. He wondered how all these sewer systems could properly work after an apocalypse of sorts. Perhaps this 'Great War' was like the Long Night, only even worse. He dreaded to think what such a Great War would do to Westeros. And yet it was possible that with new lands, many new ways to die also came. He would have to do his best to avoid these while he could.

The door was creaky, but it came out and was quickly locked by Coleman. Yandel checked the coast was clear to make sure no more of those fowl Triggermen came to cause any trouble. Their boss was not a nice man from what he heard, so it would be necessary to take many precautions here. Truth be told, no town in Westeros remotely resembles the situation in Goodneighbour, where the common people take what they want and keep others in line. It was more like the Dothraki than a civilised part of the world! And yet here it was.

"What do you think will happen to Goodneighbor once the Crown extends authority? Or the wasteland as a whole?" Yandel secretly hoped that they wouldn't kill off all of the different creatures, robots and races, for they would teach so much to the people of Westeros. "The only reason Boston hadn't overrun the continent by now is because of how chaotic and divided they are. Imagine what Westeros could've like if it had the technological advantage! No need to ask Braavos or the Free Cities for money, they'd be asking us!" The possibilities were endless, or at least he thought that.

"From what I can tell, the major, John Hancock is a friend of the Crown and hopes to align Goodneighbour with them once they come in. Which won't be for a while. House Lannister is very angry about some matter that happened in Winterfell, and has gone down south for it. I see the North and Riverlands are harassed by the difficulties that the Wasteland offers but wish to protect it as their territory. There are all sorts of rumours. That's just the affairs in Westeros. I'm sure some of the more devious Wastelanders such as the Institute will also have something up their sleeves, and bloodshed seems inevitable at this point. But enough about politics, let's find the others.

A a group of settlers were gathered around a fire cooking some stew of sorts like beggars, but they seemed substantially better off. Being in these conditions must have been quite poor for those who had known the Old World and it's supposed luxuries and the 'American Dream.' To go from such a utopia to this must have been dreadful for those Ghoul's who had lived through it all.

They sat down next to them to wait for their comrades, who were at an unknown part of the town. Yandel asked the supplier what type of soup he was providing, with them replying it was a mix of tomato, mole rat meat and garlic. He handed Yandel and Coleman a free bowl each for a test. The taste was peculiar but surprisingly appealing, and he could see why the people here depended on such dishes in a desperate environment.

They began talking about their stories and about how they got there. It was interesting to see the majority of them were women and yet we're just as experienced, survivalist and knowledgable as the men. Back at the Citadel, it was exclusively a male phenomenon, with women thought of in subservient roles or not involved in politics. For him to see women in an equal grounding to men and with similar positions was definitely something Tandel and other Maesters were surprised about, especially as Yandel had never known any life outside the Citadel's indoctrination. Perhaps Kings Landinf had more women in power than he gave credit for.

He began to reflect on his time here as he used a piece of leavened, somewhat stale bread to mop up the first batch of soup, before he humbly asked for more. This time the man charged a cap per boal, but was still eager to serve.

They had spent days here, but they couldn't be here forever. There was so much more wasteland to explore and catalogue. They hadn't been to Diamond City a city inside a former arena of death, the Air Force base where the flying ships would fuel and energise, Concord, the source of the Minutemen, and this 'Glowing Sea.' Who knows what could be lurking under there. There was much to explore and e loved it. There weren't many places he thought they could go further. Until Jonathor came up with Theomore.

"We need to go the Memory Den. I know you're all terrified of it for some reason, you cravens. But if you want to find Maester Cressen, we have useful information."

"And how would that be?" Maester Coleman asked with intrigue.

Jonathor dropped a bag. Inside it was a man's dissected head. With metallic parts. Yandel and Coleman both shuddered.

"By the gods, what are you doing? Who was that?" Yandel had seen enough dead bodies, but for his guard to bring back a corpse was despicable.

"It was a tech raider. Not one of Qyburn's pieces, don't worry. He said he knew where Cressen was. Me and a Wastelander killed him and the Wastelander told me to go to the Memory Den to find things about what was in his head. Looks like that's what we'll do." Even more despicable than the first commandment!

"You mean we should engage with necromancy and exploring the memories of dead men? These men are hellbound, clearly. Throwing ourselves into their deprived minds can never end well, even with good intentions!"

Yandel was not wishing to specialise in Valyrian chains and the dark magic, but hoped to one day be a great author like those before him. He would publish they finished works of 'A World of Ice and Fire' about the known world in general, 'Fire and Blood' about the Targaryen dynasty, and his own completely novel idea.

This one would be entitled 'A Guide to the Wasteland'. This was only a working title, admittedly, but when finished, it would serve as an expansion to World of Ice and Fire, for this would be a second world joining our own. It would inform Westerosi, both noble and smallfolk, rich and poor, close and remote, the dangers and benefits of new things and technologies. Perhaps the rich and poor divide would be broken, and this 'American Dream' could be realised in his world. He did not want to jeopardise his chances by involving in blatant necromancy!

"This isn't necromancy, Yandel, this is technology. These people know how minds and brains work. They can extract memories and give us exact information like nothing we've known. No more secrets, no more lies, no more reading people's outward appearances. We can know the intentions of the dead! And no magic involved at all! I say we go for it!" Jonathor had a morbid fascination with this, but the other Maesters agreed.

"We need to find Cressen to figure out what's going on!" Coleman said. "Let us just use this chance to find if he's dead or alive and deal appropriately with it! No more procrastination or loss. We've already lost one of ours to death, we don't need more to die for our own hesitance!" He had a point, that was sure.

"Very well, we'll go!" Yandel couldn't believe he was being coerced into this travesty of nature, but d it was true, then possibilities would be staggering. Technology of this kind could treat so many problems of the mind, such as madness, loss of memory, melancholy, extracting the truth and finding out information. It was certainly a shame the party involved would have to be dead at this point. But he vowed in his head that he would find a way. They put down their half-eaten stew, thanked the cooks and went on their way to the Memory Den.

The door opened and it was a peculiar look. The bricks here were a form of red and brown, with red curtains and lights for further compliment it. Posters of various media were around as well, though Yandel couldn't tell what these could represent. Perhaps they were books or plays? Or were they something else. In such a world, it was hard to say either way. The waiting hall had some benched and such to sit on, but it seemed Noone was occupying them at this point. That meant they could go straight in.

The area they entered was peculiar indeed. A seductive woman sat in a chair like some lady, or even a queen. Around her were strange pods filled with people or empty. A couple were queuing, but not many at all. He would wish to know what this involved. They approached the woman to see what she had to say.

"Hello, my lady. We would like to have access to these memory loss that you have available here. We need information on this to find our lost friend." Coleman said.

"Well, sugar, I gotta say it's not often I get called a lady around here. The name's Irma, and I'm in charge here. I'm afraid you'll need to talk to Doctor Amari about that kind of thing, km not used to it you see. If you want to relive pleasurable memories, either your own or one from our many databases, we have that to offer too. Are you those strangers from the new lands out Commonwealth, by the way? Your accents certainly seem alien to me."

"Indeed we are. And where is this 'Doctor' you speak of? We are unfamiliar with this post." It was true that a doctor position was unheard of in Westeros. Physicians were available only for the nobility and emergencies at the Citadel, but even they had a very hit and miss performance with their works. Yandel had seen stimpaks and sterilisation equipment in action, perhaps these doctors knew more about them and how to use them than the average layman.

"You might wanna see her downstairs. She'll know. Have a good time, boys!" It was clear she was just showing courtesy. Only Yandel was particularly youthful, and he was not an attractive man, so he didn't bother trying to court this lady. The doctor was needed to see what was inside that raider's brain.

They found her downstairs, working on some sort of machine-based chair. She fans them an odd look as they appeared in full Maester gear. Similarly, they seemed puzzled by her white and clean looking clothes, with an appearance of purity and disdain from filth, or at least that's what Yandel thought. Some not so clean thoughts also went thrown his head.

Coleman began. "Greetings, 'doctor' Amari, I...no, we wish to consult you about the exploration of memories here. We also wish to find out about your profession of doctor, as it is not something we Westerosi are familiar with at all. We would be grateful for all of these things, of course."

"I can't say I've met people with quite the same requests as you overall, especially explaining what a doctor is, but I have recently done a similar thing regarding memory explorations. Where is the sample you have of a hippocampus?" Jonathor got out the back and showed her the disembodied head. She shuddered back. "What the hell! Can you seperate the brain from the head? I'm not operating on that as it is!"

"Very well. Here or in there?" As he pointed to the operating theatre and got out his knife.

"In there of course." The woman replied, clearly disgusted by such a gesture of blunt violent content. Jonathor was never really the smartest though. He went in and did the deed while the others waited. It was quite bloody still, and so still with disgust, the doctor washed the blood off with water and sanitizer and put it on one of the computer monitors.

"Alright, unlike my precious sample, this brain is entirely intact, not just the hippocampus, so an intact range of memories are available to you directly fortunately. Hopefully you can make do with all of these new things. Who wishes to volunteer for this?" They all looked around at each other at the hearing of this.

"Volunteer for what?" Jonathor asked.

"To be the subject of the neural transmission. Basically, using this device, you'll be able to enter the brain of this raider and find out where they came from and what relevant information they have. What kind of information are you after anyway?"

"First of all, the location of our missing friend. Secondly, the j ow how of dealing with robots, and perhaps thirdly, the discovery of how the raider gangs operate as to find a way to deal with them." Yandel was very methodical and proud of it when it came to his descriptions.

"Would you be the volunteer for this?" The others looked at him and prompted with nods.

"Very well, yes. I'll volunteer for this. Though I must warn you I've never done anything close to this before." He hesitated as he got into the chair.

"Neither have most." She said as she slipped the neural device into his head. "This may take a few seconds, I'll update any progress to you." Soon, the physical, real world began to blur out and after twenty seconds of pitch black, another began to take its place.

It it was a dark purple network like some kind of spiders web, like nothing he had ever seen. _Perhaps this is what the neural network is truly like_ , he thought. _Any concept of the soul and its life essence must be dramatically changed if this is true! The others must know when I'm out!_

"Alright, 'maester', your first memory for this guy is up on your left. Go." He went.

This one showed a youth being taken from seemingly loving parents by a group of savage raiders. It must have been that they had kidnapped him and indoctrinated him in their ways. The poor thing. He heard a voice. It must have been the raider. "The name's Spike. Here I am being taken away from my parents by by adoptive parents. I didn't know what was happening, but this would be my new life. I always wondered what happened to them, you know. But now it's too late to say." He wanted more time here, but it wasn't relevant.

The next had a boy of ten being savagely beaten by his superiors. Spike had a spiked hair as well as a piece of shrapnel coming out of his arm following the beating. "These guys were fucking savages to me, beat me, starved me, did some unspeakable things to me. But I survived. And grew." He used this piece to cut the throat of the man beating him, which earned him the respect of the older raiders. "From then on, my gang began to grow and grow, but it wouldn't last." Then the memory faded to black. Yandel now had to go on to the next one. He tried desperately to my fall of the purple flowing network. He could see minor memories at each side, mere flashbacks and such. He heard Amari's voice again.

"Alright, got some more relevant memories coming up soon. This may help you in your objectives! Also, you don't have to stay entirely on the neural network, it's not that you'll fall off. Got that?" He looked up and gave her voice a thumbs up.

The next step showed him as a recruit for the Rust Devils- the group of robotically involved raiders, dismantling his first robot at the age of seventeen. His crew were also joining this group and watching at his side. "My gang was only so large, and in the Rust Devils, we saw something others didn't have. Good technology and the knowledge of how to use it. With that insane mechanist sending robots out to harass and kill people, it was the right time to exploit this technology and build something great with it. We still had to kill and exploit people of course, but robots were so much more useful than human manpower. We became a gang of equals-mostly at least." The process was fascinating in watching the codes and wires of the machine be figured. Yandel could feel this information being 'downloaded' into his brain, giving him everything this raider had in terms of technical knowledge. Another was the different names and catalogues of different robots available and different combinations they could appear in. Yandel could surely teach the Citadel how to use robots after this!

The next along these strange purple webs was what looked like some kind of negotiation. The other raider had blood and claimed to work for a person called 'The Judge'. The coordinates to his hideout were downloaded into Yandel's mind. The bloody minion grinned at the transaction . Spike was somewhat more reluctant in this particular exchange.

"I thought this captive would be very useful in finding out about this outer world and the opportunities it held. It was a shame to sell him, but we needed the caps." In his chained hand, he had Cressen! That bastard had taken a maester of the Citadel and sold him as a slave to some bloody lunatics! The raider went back with Cressen in chains, with their shadows going wide. But there was something suspicious. Spike started talking again.

"I noticed something was wrong in the shadows. There was mine, naturally, Maester Cressen's and the guards. But there was also another one, that seemed to be steaming, burning even. I couldn't know what caused it, but I had a feeling this new world bought more than populace to us." Yandel hesitated to comprehend what this shadow could mean. It could have just been an illusion, but it could also have been a sign of another presence there, one unfamiliar to Wastelanders. Magic! But magic didn't exist in the Wastelanders, so it must have come from the outside. But who would provide such a thing to raiders? He moved to the final vision.

The last figure was of Spike the Rust Devil meeting Jonathor, fighting for his life against the skilled swordsman aimed only with a defensive baseball bat. He managed to land a few hits on the guard, but it was soon knocked out of his hands. He tried to grab his pistol, but he was soon stabbed by Jonathor and finally being cut down. Spike ended with- "and now I can finally rest. I hope you found what you wanted, and I'm sorry it had to come to this." Now the visions were over. Yandel started to return to the world of the normal.

It it took a few seconds to return to the normal world, but he was here. His fellow Maesters gathered around him and started asking questions. Theomore asked "how did you feel when you were inside? Was it as a spirit or soul entering the domain of another soul?" While Jonathor asked "what was it like having a second mind to share with?" Only Cressen spoke sense. "What did you see?"

Yandel prepared to answer. He coughed and started. First of all, I know how to build robots. All of them. Secondly, I know who has taken Cressen and where. I say we go and rescue him?"

"And how exactly to a group of Maesters with no combat training go after a camp of armed and trained raiders?" Amari asked. Jonathor nodded. "She has a point, you know."

Yandel grinned. "We learn the skills to make robots and fight fire with fire of course!"


	22. The Reconciler (II)

The journey to Pyke wasn't too long, but it was stranger than usual for Asha. Seeing over a dozen non-human entities travel with them as diplomats, while several trappers were already starting to assimilate into Ironborn life, as Victarion had gathered them. Asha did not trust the savages, and as she hadn't heard written word from Victarion yet, she was starting to become suspicious. Kasumi was a sensitive girl, and did not have much experience in combat. She was impulsive, strong willed and believed in her new identity as a synth intensely, even while not having that definite proof. _I seriously question whether she is half mad,_ Asha thought at the sight of the Commonwealth synth-woman. While not inhuman like DiMA was, the synths all had some peculiar aspect to them that seemed to be strange to her, although that could just have been the cultural aspects, as with the synths and humans of Far Harbour, neither were even remotely familiar with the Old Way.

As she looked to her left, she saw the Sea Song, the ship of her maternal uncle Rodrick Harlaw, who respected her authority and position more than he did Victarion. He was a bookish man for certain and he too was interested in bringing Far Harbour in peacefully. They may not be Ironborn, by culture or by blood, but they could become them in time, perhaps. It was a shame none of the automated ships with their motors could hold more than about five or six soldiers each, otherwise she would build a new fleet out of them. Perhaps if the HMS Azaela were to be resalvaged... But that was far off now. Now she had to convince her father to spare the synths and allow Far Harbour and Acadia to come into the fold. She knew it wouldn't be easy.

The waves were particularly turbulent, and she was doing what she could to avoid the 'Fog' that came from Far Harbour's outer regions and was spreading into the Sunset Sea, however slowly. Kasumi was noting something here.

"Surely it would be much easier with these ships if we had some thick glass roofing, with solvents that kept it clear? That way we could avoid rain coming on us and damaging the surfaces, while also working as an additional Defense against any aerial attacks? It sounds crazy, I know, but I don't see why it couldn't work. That or metal boats like we Wastelanders have- way more durable and self-sufficient than this." She smiled at Asha, who commended her for her intuition.

"I don't know how well your ideas would work in person, but they definitely seem interesting. Perhaps we shall try them out someday." Asha liked many aspects of the reaving life, the weather included, but making their journey easier and more efficient definitely wouldn't harm.  
With the rain in her hair and lightening above, she decided to go down below deck to see her comrades and whatever they were up to following the entry of synths.

She found a game of what the Far Harbour locals called 'poker.' Several of her crew could be seen playing this game as they were all around the table betting over a pile of money and one of the Ironborn's boots. "What is the meaning of this?" She shouted. "How did a group of Ironborn Warriors get involved in a gambling game?" They turned to her, in a way that she thought would snap them back into shape. They instead broke into laughter. The ring man behind the game stepped up.

"It's just me, you know, Cog! I'm showing these guys how to have a good time. We're betting on Olyvar's boots and whatever money we hedge our bets on for this one! Whoever wins takes it all. It took a couple of ours to teach them, especially those who can't read, but I'd say it's bringing us all together already, captain!" Truth be told, it was working, but she could barely tolerate working with such a reckless individual, human or synth. If her crew were drunk, they wouldn't be able to fight, swim or function well should the time call for it.

"I want to bet my three gold dragons in this next round!" The crew member known as Willam said. Harald said "I bet my two salt wife's in this next one! Beat that!" A synth came up "I bet my own fucking freedom on this one. Whoever wins this match, I'll be their thrall!" Asha found this disgusting and embarrassing. She had to do something here. So she whipped them back into shape.

"I see you all think this is some kind of game,"- she wanted a serious cooperation between the two, as they were self-aware people with fears, emotions and desires,-"it isn't. This is a diplomatic mission we are on. I am convincing my father not to wipe you synths out and turn Far Harbour into Thralls. I need your help every bit of the way to convince him not to do something rash. Stop pissing around and start doing something constructive with your lives. DiMA and Chase may not be around for you to suckle their steel tits, but you need to behave properly here. Pyke is not like anywhere you've been before. Not that Far Harbour is anywhere like I've been before, but our culture is vastly different. Don't act foolishly and we may well get along."

"Far Harbour are the ones who kicked me out!" One synth voice up. "I don't give a damn what those bigots go through from your readers! They deserve it f you ask me!" Asha wasn't sure what the residents of the town had done, or what this 'bigot' was, but she could see there was some bad blood between at least some members of the different communities.

"There won't be war between our groups unless absolutely necessary. I'm doing what I can to preserve order on the island and help it be added to our realm with as little bloodshed as we can."

Another cried out, this one a woman. "What about those Children of Atom loonies? You think they'll share your aim of spilling little blood? I'd say yes, it's absolutely necessary to wipe those scum out! If we don't, then it's them or you who rules over our beliefs. Your Drowned God or their Atom. I'm having a hard time deciding right now!" She sat down and Asha sighed.

"What would you folk of ruin know about the Iron way? The Iron Price? The Drowned God? Nothing! The folks of Far Harbor are cravens, but they are at least people, not just metal beings made to look human! Abominations!" There was now shouting and shoving over tables on both sides. Even Cog was dumbfounded with what was happening, hesitantly trying to get people to calm down.

"Enough!" Asha shouted at the top of her lungs. The entire deck, heck, the entire ship was now silent. Good.

"There will be no more arguing, no more fights and no more squabbles until we get to Pyke. You will sort out your differences now! For the Drowned God's sake, go back to that poker game you had! I'm trying to help you folk, try to listen for a change." She turned to her Ironmen. "And you, I won't tolerate any ill treatment of our guests. They may not be fully human by any means, but they think as people and want to help you in whatever way they can. Let them, and we could learn many things." She turned. "Get back to your jobs." A few "aye, captain"'s were heard as she walked back up deck to the top.

Pyke was in visible distance despite the grey fog. Fortunately, this was tge normal fog colour she and the other Ironborn were used to. Not this radioactive monstrosity that was present throughout Far Harbor. The one that was known for driving men mad or turning them into Ghouls. Vic and the Botleys had managed to convert some to the Drowned God, yet they still felt unstable and viscous. _They would need to be taught Ironborn values if they wished to be the first of their kind to join_ , she imagined her father say. He probably would have loved seeing harpoon guns and grenades for the first time, considering the potential for both fishing and reaving. There were even rumours of some local drink, rare but special, that could control the sea.

She tried to imagine how her family would react to the news of converts and to these synths and their customs. She hadn't seen Theon in years, yet imagined him having been weened by the Starks, being paranoid about the synths but willing to use the technology for his own gains. Which probably weren't good. Especially as it was he who was heir to the Iron Islands. Mother would shrug back into her tower and be welcoming initially, but would think little of it truly. Aeron would want to turn these converts into the front of a cultural invasion of Far Harbor, allowing the locals to be assimilated and become new generations, with the creatures being hunted or farmed away. Theon wasn't the only Greyjoy who hadn't been seen in years, and Asha wasn't sure about the other.

The rocks were in clear vision of the ships, and the anchors would need to be readied.

"Alright men! Anchors to the ready!" Soon, the ships around her cast their sails to a peaceful entry, and the anchors came down to stabilise themselves as they neared shore. Truth be told, this was several miles off Pyke, but it was better than nothing. The drawbridges were being lowered and Ironborn guards readied themselves for any trouble. Asha came down first. Followed by her allies, Cromm, Grimtongue, Lorren Longaxe and her new diplomat Kasumi, she entered the deck. Intrigued looks came from the soldiers to Kasumi and the others coming out. A concert trapper eyed up the soldiers on bay as well, but the Ironborn companion held him back.

"Im here to show my lord father some of the inhabitants of the island and tell him of the situation. Forgive me for the lack of letters, but I have been busy with matters there. I did not have the chance to inform you of the full situation, but I'm sure my father will let you know."

"And what are these strangers? That group over there, in the strange clothes and weapons-harpoons? And the others, who look like strange smallfolk. What is going on?" The castelan of the port noted. His name must have been either Harren or Harwick, she could never remember.

"The ones with harpoons and such are local savages whom managed to convert it the Drowned God. He has been merciful to them and they wish to assimilate into our society, bringing their weapons with us. They had fallen victim to some madness inducing fog, so they must be watch cautiously."

The castellan raises and eyebrow. "And what of the others?"

"They...well, you'll find out about them soon. They are not residents of Far Harbour the town, but they could be of greater importance and interest in the region. But enough vagueness, I need to see my father as soon as possible. Can you take us?" She saw uncle Rodrick come behind her with his crew.

"Indeed, mi'lady. Your horses are present, plus three spare for any esteemed guests. The others will have to walk, I'm afraid."

"Fine, shall we go?" It was only about twelve miles to Pyke, so this shouldn't be too hard at those speeds. She turned to the synths. "Alright, Kasumi, you can come with me. Cog, you keep the others entertained here. We're off to see my father." She now turned to the converts. "You may or may not know some others like you have already been gathered here by the Humble brothers, so you may not necessarily have to come with us. If you do not wish to come with us to see your new Leige, than make yourself of use here and help the locals like the rest. We Ironborn do not spread each others' blood, so if you wish to consider yourselves them truly, behave well and show they what your weapons can do."

One trapper, an individual named 'Roar Berr', a clear bastardisation of Robert, stepped forward. He was the commander of one of The Island's western outposts, whom Botley had brought to heel and baptised with the help of one of his priests. "I wish to see our King, so I may pledge allegiance."

Asha quickly corrected him. "Our Lord paramount. He is not King of the Iron Islands, at least not now." They had the fanaticism of new converts, a somewhat frightening reverence she had seen many times before. His former men went on foot to follow him as he got up on a guest horse. The final guest horse was taken by a freed settler known as Kevin MacDuncan. She turned upwards on her mare, and began the trot up.

It must have been about three hours, maybe more since they had set off, though she could hardly tell. She asked Kevin for the time, for he had a device called a 'watch' that did exactly that.

"Five-eighteen, PM at this time, my lady. We must be near." They both saw some tall rocks isolated from one another, with one having a sizeable castle on. Home.

"Indeed we are. Now, let's get in formation to cross the bridge safely, and prevent anyone falling off. I'm not responsible for anyone stupid enough to fall off, I'm afraid. No arguing, no fighting, no foolery and things will go just fine." She had made this journey many times over the bridge. It was never stable, there was always some risk to it, but she was used to it. She knew which planks were most stable and which ones weren't, how many could be on the bridge at once and any spare routes to reach the castle. But her guests didn't, so she needed to be careful so they would live.

"One at a time, no shoving out of the way." Asha looked behind her to see Kasumi nervously pursuing her while the others waited patiently. She saw guards outside the castle gates awaiting her command. She was halfway across the bridge now, and recognising her face, they put their crossing spears down and prepared to ask about her guests. She answered first.

"I was sent to the new island on my father's orders, though only he knew of it. I bring with me some locals of the island who wish to engage in diplomacy with us. Some wish to pledge allegiance already. I suggest you let us through." The guards relented quickly. "Of course, my lady reaver." And they let her through, with Kasumi in tow. The others followed through one by one, often slowly and nervously. After two or three dozen, not one had fallen off the edge, which was a good occasion, even if waiting for them to cross was tedious at best. Soon the tower would be close.

She went up the stairs with Kasumi in close quarters, while the others were further behind. Kasumi seemed nervous about what was happening, but tried keeping herself together. She asked- "when shall I be able to return home? You said that once this is done, I can return home. You promised. I hope you live up to your end of the bargain." The girl sounded aggressive, but it was easy to tell this was nerves. When Asha had met this girl, she'd been quivering behind generators and maintaining power rather than going out fighting or marrying the locals. She was a synth, so it was at least possible in theory for her to be immortal. _What a life that would be._

Father was managing something with some of his direct vassals, perhaps trying to build a fleet to enact vengeance for the defeat that many years ago. The time was getting closer, she could feel it. Asha left Kasumi just outside the door and proceeded.

"Father?" She asked. "I have come back from Far Harbour now, with uncle Rodrick. Uncle Victarion is staying and trying to find something there, so he shall not be back for a while." He turned to her.  
"So, my daughter is coming into her own once again. You certainly don't dissapoint, regardless of what my men say behind our backs. I recieved Wolfe's sample of former 'Trappers' who wished to join us. So far, I'm impressed. They were easy to learn the Iron Price and its ways, but those settlers were of far less use. Most were cravens, fit only for death or for thralldom. They are part of my lands by right and thus need to pay tribute. But that was just a small sample. What else have you heard and seen on this new island?"

"The island is full of monsters, not just the crab like mirelurks, but viscous beasts too. There are two headed deer that glow in the dark, galloping insects bigger than horses, hairless bears, salamanders taller than any ironman, and fish that walk, among others! There are even...things that were once men, but were transformed by an invisible enemy called 'radiation' into monstrous brings. The trappers recieved lesser doses, and yet the Fog that covers the island drives them mad. It is only because of the local's devices the fog hasn't spread across the island and beyond. Who knows how far it could spread into our lands of things aren't stopped." She didn't wish to seem needy, and certainly not insane, but these were all true.

"If it were anyone else, I would say you'd been drinking some botched booze, or had gone madder than Aerys Targaryen, but I can hardly discount strange things I'm a situation where islands appear out of thin air. What about the people's living there?" Father was more open to her news than she had expected.

She continued. "There are three main factions besides the savage trappers and settlers, along with minor ones. Two of which are not even human. There are these hulking green monsters known as 'supermutants' by the locals, each as big as Gregor Clegane, which eat human flesh and have hounds that rival dire wolves at their disposal. The main civilisation is the town of Far Harbour, where the locals are peaceful, if very isolationist, and they protect themselves with lots of guns and harpoons, which the converts will have shown you by now. They use 'fog condensers' to hold back the fog and protect themselves. They sell many strange drinks and dishes and make food out of the mirelurks and other sea creatures." Balon, despite showing contempt for their peacefulness, was intrigued by their situation.

"The other faction are Acadia, a colony of refugee synths that set up refuge in te hills of an old astronomers' place. Synths aren't human at all, but were made by a group called the Institute to resemble and replace humans, making them into efficient slaves and soldiers who could move through air at will at any location. Some of them grew their own minds and rebelled against their creators, and it is said they have many secrets in the island we could know about. Victarion is finding out what those are."

"Are there any other groups there I should know about?" Her father was getting impatient now.

"Yes. There's this religious sect known as the 'Children of Atom', who worship this invisible radiation and the Fog, hoping to spread it across the island. I don't know much about them, but Victarion is making contact with them as we speak. The three factions are all in tense relations with one another and it is possible war will erupt. Once we find out about these groups, we can plan what to do next."

"I see you've done your research. Excellent. But research and writing books won't allow us to rule offer these new suvjects. We need force. They are in my ocean and they all need to submit to my authority. Te Drowned God knows that Ned Stark and Tywin Lannistwr would wish to make that island their own to keep a dagger by our side. I cannot allow that. We must take action soon. If the synths are as you say they are, then how can we trust them? They are non-humans created by humans, men attempting to play God. Can we really rely on them, even if they are rebellious?"

"We have allies on the region. At lest I believe we do, and we should. The synths may not be us, but they have feelings and desire of their own. We can't ignore that, father. I have brought a special one to have audience with you, and there are others to see if need be." She turned to Kasumi. "Come, you can come in now." Kasumi hesitantly stepped in the room. Asha looked around. Father was eyeing the girl up with a stern look, assessing her like he would a new rug he had won on the battlefield.

"This is the first of your 'guests', I presume?" He asked with clear scepticism in his voice. "And you are?"

"Kasumi Nakano..my lord. I came to the island of Far Harbour to find out about my real identity and who I am, and I deduced my synth heritage. I found my way to Acadua and I found people just like me. We aren't human, but we're just as much people as you or anyone else on your islands. Your daughter has established relations with my people as well as the people of the town, and Acadia wishes to bring peace to the island, as we are at war. I humbly ask that you bring order to our islands, and we will all be your people from then on." She stuttered repeatedly with nerves at the sight of Father. "I truly am honoured to be in your presence, my lord. Please forgive me for my meekness." She looked at Asha with permission to sit. _The poor wretch,_ she thought.

"And how is it that I can believe this claim that you are not human? You're quite meek as you've said, and your dress and language are peculiar, but you still seem human to me. Maybe you are confused about your identity?" Father was finding the visit peculiar, she could tell.

Kasumi relenred. "I...I can't prove that I'm a synth, but I'm sure of it. My friends definitely are, that's for sure. We do have evidence. I'm sure our leader DiMA would wish to meet you- you definitely couldn't confuse him for a human! I got a picture if you want!" She handed one to Father and he started looking. Asha confirmed.

"It's true. These synths are beings of metal and plastic and wires and electricity. DiMA is older and more alien than the others, but they're the same under the skin-replicant. DiMA also claims there are secrets to the island that would be of great use to us if we acquire them. I suggest we should. Imagine what we could do to the rest of the Iron Islands with them."

He handed the picture back to Kasumi with raised eyebrows. "Very strange, you people. For now, you and your 'synth' friends shall be granted guest privileges on my islands, but as former slaves, i can only presume you have no lords residing over you. If you wish to become smallfolk and be ruled over by one of my vassals, as equals to the town residents, that is fine, but if you want some lordly status, I will not compromise Old Way, the Iron Price for you or any new people in lands that are rightfully mine. You change or fail. Adapt or die. There can be no compromises. I hope Far Harbour is as upfront as your people. You can go now." Kasumi went out, nodded to Asha and was escorted down the stairs. He turned to Asha now. "Are there any more of your guests that are directly concerning of me?"

"There are some more converts, but I'm sure our vassals can allocate them to where they need to be. We could easily make another two or three ships with them alone manning it here. Their guns and harpoons would be very useful reaving tools, and the ships of their land are made of metal and propel on fuel, not from oar. Imagine what we could do with such things!" She was pragmatic, and while she admired the Old Way, changes could always be made if they were beneficial. These certainly were.

"I have my doubts, daughter. We still don't know the status of my last son, my current heir. If he still has Iron in his blood, he shall lead our new age. If not, then it shall be you. But I won't have you disregard everything we've built for thousands of years. Not now, and not them. Is that understood?"

"Yes father." She looked down at the man's feet and at a discarded fabric. Perhaps from a trapper that wasn't so receptive after all.

"Good. Now get what you need and leave. Your chambers are open as always. The others have the guest rooms for now." He waved his hand and she walked down the stairs. The guards closed the door behind, and she went on her way. When she got to the bottom of the stairs, she could see her new 'allies' once again playing a game of poker with some of the guards who should be on duty. She for one ignored it and went on.

 _Let them have their time,_ she thought. For soon, they would be the subjects of the greatest change to the Iron Islands in millennia.


	23. Crag

Crag woke up sweating from his slumber. He had another nightmare that night before. About the tinmen and their flying machines tearing him apart along with his old brothers. The captives he was planning to eat in his dreams started to become Supermutants, and yet his comrades were eating them anyway. Dreams of cannibalism and slaughter haunted him at night, where once they had fueled him onwards. His allies were gone, the radiation that stuck to the air was no longer around either. Every breath he had breathed since the Event had been fresh and filled his head.

Things hadn't been the same since the Event. He had hoped to go to Nuka World, kill and eat all the raiders there and loot their goods, ruling as a local warlord-a king, even. His comrades back at the camp, Big-Bones, Patch-eye and his 'brother' Snag had all dismissed his plan as ridiculous, with Master Remus threatening to lash him for insurbordination. But this had not stopped Crag from his dream of ruling new lands. He had set off from one side of the Commonwealth to the other; from the police station around the river, to the Transit station itself. There were no gunners or raiders interrupting his path, so it would have been easy to move in. Or so he had thought.

He was almost ready to restore power and board the monorail, and yet the Event's noise had stopped him. He had wondered if this Big Boom were some kind of enormous bomb or something, but when he looked outside, the region outside the transit was different. The mostly barren forests had been met with lush woodlands extending all around. Humans had been living in surrounding settlements, but less and less were interested in coming, scared by him. Many did come around to see these new signs that appeared that lead to Nuka World.

The signs pointed to places like 'Crow's Nest', 'Griffon's Roost' and 'Stonehelm', which was confusing. What significance could a crow's nest have for a map? This new world was strange. He hadn't seen supermutants in miles, only little humans, dogs and one headed Brahmin. And these strange monsters the locals called 'horses'. Crag definitely had wondered what was going on. He had been looking for answers.

Not anymore though. It had been weeks, he thought since what happened, and while he could kill unarmed humans one on one with ease, armed ones with chainmail, spears and swords were much harder to deal with. Most of the wounds from those contacts had now healed, but one or two major ones stayed. Settling down in one of the villages simply wasn't an option. He wasn't welcome if he was attacking without any hesitation.

Guns worked better against the punitive humans, who were unfamiliar with them fortunately. The only thing of the old Wasteland he knew about was the Nuka Transit station and the path of the Monorail which led over the hills into the arid land, but that was too far a distance to walk without a safe amount of water and food to drink. All that Nuka cola would satisfy him surely? But he couldn't know yet for this.

He thought he could hear the sound of buzzing from one of the metal machines those tinmen used as they flew. In recent times, they had all been at safe distances, too far away or totally tired to notice usually. Not today.

This one appeared in plain sight before him and the humans he had captured. Since he had seen the Event, his vicious nature had subsided more and more. He felt less of an urge to kill and eat humans, and more of a compulsion to help them, thus being kinder to his captives. Using them as labour for his farms became more tempting instead. But people's here abhorred slavery, so he considered paying them with food, water and Nuka Cola. Around his encampments, these people, along with others who had moved in more recently, a new community had been forming. He had named it Crag's Crag, an attempt at some sort of pun.

He couldn't remember when he was a puny human, only being placed in the Green Stuff, becoming a green mutant and finding himself discarded at the top near the CIT ruins. He would love to find more green stuff, so he could spare these humans of their status as meat and enemies, make them friends. Make them supermutants. The true master race.

But now, the metal machine caught his attention now. The cage fodder, who had been imprisoned for disturbing his peace, started to cry "dragon!" As the metal whirled over, he saw filthy tinmen! They took aim and fired with their big gun. A Gatling laser was it? He didn't have time to consider.

"Get away, tinheads!" He cried as he ran off. His weapons weren't bad certainly, but he knew he was outgunned. His runt size proved useful in dodging their bullets and moving quickly over distances. He ran and ran out from his open settlement towards the woods, into the forests where the Tinmen found it harder to track, for they didn't know about proper forests. The thick woods made it difficult for him to move quickly, but even harder to spot from above. He waited.

After a minute or two of noisy buzzing, and the odd spray of bullets, it ceased and they flew off, or at least that's what he could hear. The animals here were frightened of his size, about seven inches shorter than a normal supermutant, but still bigger than most humans. The one headed deer ran from him quickly. Soon, the familiar face of a mole rat passed by as well, but he didn't pursue. He didn't feel like eating though. He was contemplating all the humans that he had eaten over the years, the lives he had taken. He wasn't sure he could eat meat again. Perhaps the radiation-less new world was clearing his mind. Or the Event himself was giving him empathy for non-supermutants. He would need to know how.

The gap to Nuka World was no longer exclusively available by the monorail, but could not also be reached by moving into the more arid and open plains to the west as well. He had heard tales of great deserts like the Mohave and Texas from vague comments on the radios he occasionally listened to. Perhaps the natives were preparing to investigate the strange park.

Thats what he would do! He would go to Nuka World and make it into his settlement, as he had originally hoped. His plans might be less violent this time, but the resources and power of the region would be highly useful. Perhaps the locals would respect him more when he had his own fortress. Crag's Crag would be only the beginning. Perhaps he could have his own army and rule all Nuka World and beyond? Those settlements of Crow's Nest and such would bend to him, and then that great castle he heard occasionally mentioned by captives and smallfolk- 'Storm's End'. He could have it all, he thought. But his ambitious thoughts were put off at the sight of something different.

A horse was in the forest, with a saddle on its back but no rider. Crag approached slowly.

"Hello, horsey." He calmly approached. "You ok? Where's your owner gone to?" He turned around and didn't see any humans around taking care of them. He sat next to the horse- a stallion apparently, and stroked its fur. He was feeling hungry, and the meat of the horse looked appetising, but the beauty of the animal was something he wasn't used to at all. He picked up some green grass and fed it to the horse. It ate quietly and nuzzled up to him for more. He laughed and picked up another handful and repeated. He snatched a handful for himself, but as he ground down on it, it was bland, hard and dry. It was not his favourite dish by any shot. He decided to go up and look for some berries.

Before he could finish his harvest, he could hear voices. He wasn't going insane was he? Crag certainly didn't want to end up like Cleft-Jaw, who followed the voices till they told him to fight a deathclaw with his bare hands. More voices could be heard.

He looked around and bellowed. "Who's there? Is it a human? You'd make fine meat, humans!" This reaction was more instinctual than genuine. A bluff to frighten any tinheads or raiders that came nearby.

He didn't want to eat the bucket heads, just get rid of them. He noted something about these though, as he peered at them through the bushes. They were far more primitive, they had no guns, and steel arm or and weapons vastly below the tinheads' guns and lasers. These must have been local militia. There were many of them and their horses. Had they gone after him?

Someone must have seen him. "There!" He came out of hiding, and saw the group of three dozen or more soldiers. It looked like a hunting party indeed, as the men had swords, spears and such. All of which were pointed at him, with their commander merely having to flick his hand and they would stab him. His ammo was back at the camp.

"There's so many of you! I wasn't thinking of eating you really! Honestly!" There was no way even he would be able to take on so many. He had run out of ammo a while back now. He only had a heavy sledgehammer with spikes and a baseball bat, with about three grenades. He could blow a few up, but would it be worth it?

"So you're the one who's been harassing villages?" The leader of the group asked. "I may not be a Lord of the Stormlands, but I imagine Lord Renly will not tolerate such savageries from a green skinned monster." The man was stern and had a vicious look to him, not the kind like the villagers. "What do you want, beast? And where do you come from? Are you from the Commonwealth, and how did you come here?"

Crag answered exactly how it had happened. "I was in the western Commonwealth, planning to invade Nuka World for myself. I was exiled from my friends you see. Then the Event happened and took me and Nuka world to your land. And here I am. I no longer want to kill much, truly. Please forgive me." He bent to his knees. This man in front of him was not the forgiving type though.

"Whether you shall be pardoned for your vicious crimes is not up to me, but to Lord Renly, for he owns all the Stormlands, and my lands in the Reach are allied to him. If it were up to me, your beastly head would be on a spike, but it appears others wish use of you." Crag seemed puzzled at the implication of this.

Another high ranking member approached from the party and spoke. "Lord Renly wishes to find out about this new area which has replaced the ruins of old Summerhall. He wishes to find a safe way there that can bypass the mountains, as has been rumoured. Would you happen to know, beast?" He seemed nicer than the first man, but more rugged aesthetically.

"I know where the Transit station is if that's what you mean. It's supposed to take you quickly to the park. The monorail is about seven miles west, I think. Or that's what my human friends said." He spoke of the peasant captives he had taken with him. Who were now free since he escaped from the tinheads.

"Your information is helpful. I am Lord Lester of House Morrigan, sworn personally to Renly Baratheon, even if he isn't the rightful Lord here. The man you just spoke with was Randyll Tarly, Lord of Hornwood and sworn to Mace Tyrell. Even they are in turn sworn to King Robert Baratheon of the city of King's Landing. So that is how our kingdom functions. I'm sure very different to how your kind work. How do they work?" Crag tried to remember.

"Supermutants follow strong leaders with loads of weapons and who our clever. We work our way up ranks based on fighting, big guns and anger. That is all we've known. But I want to know more."

Lester turned to the others. A soldier noted "very similar to how the Dothraki work. If the Dothraki were green giants with guns." Lester turned back to him.

"The rest of your 'Commonwealth' is thousands of miles further north of here, and another island of Far Harbour exists in the old Iron Islands. Your Nuka World is just the last new land, or so we hope." Crag couldn't understand what he was hearing, but it seemed very big.

"Lord Renly has sent a force to investigate the appearance of this 'Nuka World'" as this Tarly man spoke. "He wishes to reassimilate these land under his control, even with the old ruins gone, it is still his by law. Whatever things and secrets the lands hold, besides these new monsters and metal things we hear about from Winterfell, should be found. You will lead us there. Or face death by justice." Crag could kill Tarly and Morrigan, but the others would probably overwhelm him. He was a runt, and certainly no behemoth.

"Alright, I'll take you there. How many in the force?" It would be interesting if he could be a part of this upcoming expedition. He would want his share of the new land after all. "And who?"

"That is none of your concern, beast. What concerns you is getting us there and bypassing the mountains and any critters living there. Do so and you will be pardoned of any crimes. If you help us take the region, you shall be rewarded part of it. It's a simple demand, I'd say, which you are better off following." Crag nodded and they set off on their way.

He was now familiar with the structure of the western forests in the region, but the locals were more so. He figured his captives had escaped or been freed by te tinmen by now, so he didn't bother thinking about them. He simply lead his new captors in the direction of Nuka World. However long that would take. They looked with resentment and disgust at his non-human appearance and his simplistic mind.

Having to walk was a shame, considering the horse he had met in the woods before the group. Turns out the horse was Lester's.

"That's a nice horse you have, Lester. Where to you get them?"

"It's Lord Lester, just so you know. When dealing with lords, minor major or paramount, you need I added them by their titles, uh. What is your name exactly? You never gave it to us earlier."

"Yeah, tell us ya name!" A drunken soldier yelled.

"Crag." He said reluctantly.

The soldiers laughed. "Which idiot named their child Crag? Gods, you mutants are fools!" They guffawed.

"Please forgive my companions for their manners, they're not used to seeing something other than men that speaks. All the other non-human races in Westeros are extinct, if they ever existed at all. Your experience is new to them." He had a point.

"I dunno, you people are very different to the old ones I knew. All you Stormlanders have seen of us so far are some mole rats, mongrels, bloat flies and maybe the odd Brahmin, but there are much worse things living in the Commonwealth than those. Nuka World probably has some threats of its own too. The people there...aren't nice." He could feel his intelligence was rising even in this conversation, as if the engaging with others was activating areas of his brain he hadn't known since before his transformation.

"Well, we'll see these new things when we get there. The northerners and Riverlanders will deal with the rest. Till then, we shall claim this new land under our belt and being piece. Who knows what devices could be discovered there?" The very reason he's set off to go there in the first place. It would be good to make discoveries like that when the group got there and restored order. Maybe this Renly would let him rule.

"There it is." He pointed at the sign for the centre that was present. It was big and red and it stood out. The expedition read and moved on.

They spoke and discussed the nature of the setting. But Tarly turned to them and shushed them. "There's someone present here. We best be careful. I'll storm with my soldiers to the hostile forces and we secure the area. Then we can get that flare and fire it off."

Crag was surprised. "How did you get a flare?"

"We were given one by this Brotherhood of Steel operative." Lord Lester must have meant the tinmen. "They haven't been here much, but I know their giant ship has gone to Dragonstone with Lord Renly's brother over some 'important matter'. Renly himself doesn't trust them as much. Too noble, absolute and honourable, things that don't work well in King's Landing. There's even word of yet another campaign in the works. But we need to deal with them first." The soldiers readied their crossbows and prepared for the ambush.

The gunners were just as confused as them as to the Event, as he could vaguely hear. He heard a gunner say "we haven't heard anything from H.Q. in weeks, only that goddamn Nuka World theme!" And another "we go in and take all those raiders out as soon as we get the chance." They were clearly following orders. And noone noticed them.

Crag tried something he had never done before. He got his frag grenade, took out the pin, and quietly rolled it over to the gunners as they spoke. Not one noticed among them. Until it was too late Then came the boom.

Three were dead already, three more injured, and the others disorientated. Now Randall and the others took their chance. Bows and crossbows were fired into the gunners before they managed to get real shots at the soldiers. One got a shotgun and blew the head off one of the bowmen next to him, but soon they were done. The commander remained, and she got her pistol and started firing at the infantrymen. It was only a matter of time before they gutted her.

More were on the roof. These ones were trickier, particularly without a gun of his own, but Crag knew a way. He could go in the elevators and ambush them as they fired. He rushed for it and pressed the button while the archers responded with fire of their own, of considerably less success.

Crag waited for it to land and got in. The gunners must have caught on to him, for two were waiting when he got up. One shot him in the stomach with a hunting rifle, which greatly aches. He swatted that one aside and broke the neck of the other with his right hand grip. The one who shot him stumbled away from him but tripped over a discarded gun and fell off the edge. The last remaining gunner had a trick up their sleeve though.

"Hold back, mutie scum!" He pulled out a Fatman. "I'll blow all of you sky high unless you let me out unharmed. Got that?" He pulled out his weapon and aimed at those down. The others looked up with puzzled looks on their face at the giant weapon.

"Don't attack the gunner! He's got a very powerful weapon!" Crag put his arms up and dropped his Warhammer. The gunner was happy.

"You got that right, now, I'm going on my way down. Any moves, and you're in trouble, OK?" He backed towards the elevator. "Yeah, stay there like a good mutant scum! Ha." He laughed. But the elevator opened and Randyll and several swordsman were there, stabbing the gunner before he could turn around fully. He dropped his weapon now and died a coward, an unforgiveable death in the eyes of his brothers.

"Ingenious distraction, I have to say, mutant." The Lord had some grudging respect here. "So, the 'monorail' is down those stairs to the right? It'll lead us to where we need to be?" Crag turned to him.

"Yep. Let's go." He picked up the Fatman and stuffed it in his backpack along with some of the rifles the dead gunners had 'given' him. Before the event, he would have taken their meat too. Randyll ordered one of his soldiers to get out the flare.

"How do I use it, milord?" He seemed puzzled.

"Fire it upwards!"

He did. The flare reached high into the sky and glowed a strongm red like a dying sun. It could be seen for miles in eithe direction, Crag figured out.

"Thank you for your help mutant. Now the expeditionary force here shall father and we shall restore order."

"Who are the expedition? Will we be among them?"

"It's time you found out." Randyll started. Crag turned around and saw a large military party heading their way.


	24. Danse (II)

Danse was proud of his achievements of recently. His years of service in the glorious Brotherhood of Steel had given great wonders in the Commonwealth and earlier in the Capital Wasteland. Now, he would bring the Brotherhood's services into a whole new world, unaffected by the brutish radiations of the Great War, but with plenty of its own concerns. He would not allow this new world to follow the mistakes of his. As he sighed and looked out the window, he saw the beauty of sunrise on a world lacking the tint of radioactive fallout.

The Vertibirds flew through the sky like gigantic eagles, into the airspace, pursuing their target with deadly efficiency, the result of years of intense training for each initiate. The shores of south-east Westeros looked truly beautiful from these angles, and he reminisced about being able to have time off and admire the radiation less beauty of most of this new world. But it wouldn't be now. They had loyalties to test. Not just to the courts of King's Landing, but too the greater codes of the Brotherhood. The Commonwealth remained unstable, and a place where they could rule interrupted would certainly be of great use.

The news from Elder Maxson following the visit to Dragonstone was profound. While from what he had heard, King Robert Baratheon was a bit of a slob who let his council do his work running the kingdom, his supposed son was a sadistic lunatic, and a child no less! Certainly not fit to run a continent.

According to the Lord of Dragonstone, Stannis Baratheon, Joffrey was not even Robert's child. He claimed that the hair and eye colours of Robert's children were all exclusively Lannister, when in all the past, Baratheon traits had been dominant. The results from the Prydwen's labs using a stolen hair sample all but confirmed this. The black hair and blue eyes of a Baratheon consistently dominated over the recessive blonde traits of a Lannister historically, just as they would in the world from which the Brotherhood came.

The message done was clear. The king's alleged heirs were nothing more than bastards unfit for rulership, and Stannis was the rightful king after all. At least under the jurisdiction of these primitive feudal laws.

In truth, the Brotherhood was what this continent needed, no, this world. Not just as a force of protection and to provide technological uplifting and guidance to the many peoples, but to rule in its entirety. To liberate the poor and grant them status based on hard work, ingenuity and merits, not on trinkets such as birthright. To protect people from themselves, keeping them in moderation; they would allow them moderate technologies for civilian use but anything too advanced would be taken and destroyed. The world didn't need another Great War.

The Lannisters, particularly the queen and her father, were trying to subvert Baratheon control so they could rule Westeros themselves, he figured. There seemed little they wouldn't do to subvert the peace, especially after what happened to that innocenet messenger!

It was truly disgusting for the supposed rulers to do such a thing. The only Lannisters he had any respect for were the dwarf Tyrion and the amicable Kevan, who had bought Brotherhood teachings word for word. Even they were not entirely trustworthy however, so they couldn't be relied upon or given too much confidentiality within the Brotherhood's dealings.

Danse was the only one to whom the secretive Varys spoke regarding a particular matter. While the other Brotherhood such as the Elder were warming toward the Lord of Dragonstone, Varys seemed dismissive of him and hinted to have a better alternative than him too, though Danse was supposedly not ready to hear this yet.

It was also a shame the Elder was so uncompromising in his attitude towards non-humans, as sometimes Danse saw something in them that his fellows didn't. A feeling of humanity, despite not having all the physical or biological characteristics.

Now to 'prove their loyalty' as Elder Maxson put it, they were going on a military campaign to bring order and prosperity to people outside the Realm. To give themselves a new base of operations and respect from the Kingdom as a whole. To pave the way for the true king's position, and of the Brotherhood's role to come.

The Stepstones needed order-that was true if what the books on the subject indicated. By subjagating the local troublemakers, they could then make use of any resources the primitives would certainly lack knowledge of. Who knows if there could be minerals or oil beneath the surface on in the surrounding seas? Then they would extend this to the Commonwealth, and make sure the continent was raider free. A hefty task, but a feasible one for the Brotherhood.

He got up and started readying his Power Armour. Corporal Clarke, the young and recent recruit from the Airforce, asked. "Why are we already suiting up? Why do we have to even take out these savages? For the sake of some other savages? Over a bunch of small islands? This seems ridiculous to me, sir!" He definitely seemed sceptical over the whole matter.

"You have your orders, Clarke. We are showing our loyalty to the Crown by extending its authority to these islands. They've been fought over for centuries, apparently. Showing we can take the islands and hold it will show our superiority as a military and disciplinary force, showing them we are not a force to be taken seriously. It will also give us a base of operations should either the Air Force or the Prydwen fail, which cannot be written off. Liberty Prime is still a while from being built after all. It may seem irrelevant, but it's for the best."

"When will we bring civilisation here, sir? I mean, sure it's better than most of the Commonwealth, but they're pretty primitive. If they advance too much and without our supervision, things could get nasty."

"Indeed, corporal. That's why we must be the guiding party here. With our base of operations, we can help the rightful king take over. In exchange, we can bring about proper dictating of the continent, while he relinquishes power for us and we replace feudalism with meritocracy and technocracy."

"Meritocracy and technocracy?" The corporal seemed confused.

"Meritocracy is where people earn our way up the ranks to positions, as in our organisation. They respect and admire our Knights, yet with theirs, most come from noble houses and not just common people pushing their way in the world. And how did those nobles arise in the first place? It's only fair we bring in a true sense of human value here." He took a breather. "As for technocracy, well...our organisation has long valued-" He turned outside. "Look, were approaching base."

The island closest was known as Dark Den. This was a place infested with pirates and their slaves. Slaves! Truly a repugnant trade to follow, not the kind of freedom the United States of America had been built upon!

Fortunately, few civilians were here to be caught in the crossfire. They farmed the fields, either as slaves of the pirates, or those who were too isolated for the pirates to bother. Many of the Pirates stood and stared at the Vertibirds in the sky. None had ever seen anything coming close. Till Danse gave the order.

"Open fire!" He cried. His was the first to turn its machine guns that way, shredding through the pirate defences. The other five Vertibirds replicated this and began a trail of pirate blood as they scouted inland.

"Alright, men. We have universal air security. I'd say it's time to show them what we're like up close!" Private Anderson to his side agreed. "Yeah, we'll show em hell!" The doors to the vehicles sides now opened, ready for the Paladin and the private to go descend, as he had done many times before.

They dropped out of the Vertibird in full power armour, rendering them immune to the effects of the fall. The fall lasted several seconds, and it felt like he was elevating at speeds as fast as any missile. As he landed on the ground, the ground shook, the shrubs and small trees were bent over, and a nearby civilian knocked over. One of the fellow Vertibird pilots fell directly on top of a pirate, crushing them instantly.

As Danse and his crew marched inward, they saw peasants and slaves under the yoke of savage pirates, like raiders without their guns or dogs to help them. They should be easy pickings, he thought.

"Ad Victorium!" He shouted as his Gatling later shredded into the armour of a particularly large pirate with silver hair and golden armour. Danse wondered what could have driven men and women like this to becoming savages, particularly as many came from civilised places in Westeros and the Free Cities. Some men must have been desperate, though others seemed of the same sadistic streak that raiders in the Commonwealth had. They relentlessly charged at the Brotherhood regardless of how outgunned they were. At least to start with. The guns started to prove otherwise.

"Fall back, fall back!" One of the Pirates cried. Another repeated it in another language. The Pirates started to retreat. The other Vertibirds in the squadron were incoming. Nevertheless, Danse and his group continued pursuit, firing at will.

The long journey in Power Armour was certainly tiring to do all that running rather than flying, but it meant they could get personal and free captives. Danse used his power armour strength to tear open a cage full of captives.

"Thank you, thank you so much, but what are you?" They clearly were confused by the big, metal armour the Knights wore, their ship's ability to fly or their lasers being 'red lightning'. The natives couldn't be so uninformed. They must have thought the soldiers were gods!

He took off his helmet and showed. "Don't worry, I'm just as human as you. Now go, get your families and leave! When we're done, you'll never have to worry about pirates ever again!" He gave a reassuring smile and they went on their way. He saw one pirate drop on their knees and throw their hands in the air, having soiled himself. A couple of Paladins chained him up and took him to their Vertibird. The assault had now covered about seven square miles of the island, and more was on the way.

As they ran through some of the few bits of farmable land, they saw some locals tending to their crops, suspicious and intrigued by the newcomers. They must assume we're just a new group of pirates! Danse knew that this would need to change and the people no longer needed to worry about plunder anymore. Under a United Westeros with Brotherhood supervision, their standards of living could swell!

He reached for his microphone. "Knights, status report on the other islands!" It took a few seconds for a reply. But in the meantime, he spotted more pirates trying to make a run for it. He ran after them with full force and got out Righteous Authority again. He blasted both pirates in the back, while a captive they had taken, seemingly high born by their ruined clothes, cowered in fear. He gave out a hand to Danse, who returned it. He got the message back.

"We just obliterated the fleet around Torturer's Deep. The island is falling as we speak, sir. As for the eastern most one, whatever it's called, that ones already fallen."

"Good." Danse exclaimed. "Now, it's only a matter of time before the remaining pirates surrender. How are we dealing with captives and any civilians living there?" He started to unfasten the boy's collar, though not paying attention as the next message came in.

"We're freeing captives and telling them about us, sir. We've told the peaceful locals that any taxes they have to pay will be fair, and that noone's wives or daughters shall be taken. Good stuff." She seemed hesitant on the radar.

"Is there something wrong, Paladin Amelia?"

"It's just... Some of these pirates...seem familiar. Most are just savages, but we've seen a few using guns and mines, which they shouldn't have. I've sworn I've seen others around as well."

Danse finished unfastening the outer layerthe boy's collar, though it was proving difficult, so he turned down and tried unfastening the chains on the boy's feet. "I guess we should..." He paused. There was a ticking sound. As he looked up, he saw the flash of red.

"By God, initiates! They're using explosive collars here? That shouldn't be possible! Someone from the Commonwealth has sold these raiders equipment for slavery! They must have sold the pirates guns too! We have to-" the collar started beeping. The boy began to cry. "I'm sorry," Danse solemnly stated. It was too late for him now. He dived out of cover and shielded his eyes from the explosion. It was several times more powerful than a frag grenade, and even power armour would not have been sufficient to survive such a blast point blank. The child didn't stand a chance. A defenseless, innocent child, used by monsters!

As he rose from the dirt, tears of rage filled his eyes. Whoever was responsible for this was going to pay dearly.

As he went out of the brief wooded area back into the plains, the Pirates living there in their homes tried coming out to flee him, with most fleeing in fear of his great power armour. Except one, who possessed their own crude suit. They were no pirate though, they were a raider!

"Ooh, you look a good challenge! Bring it on! Been a while since we seem any Wastelanders round here!" He fired his shotgun at Danse, but it bounced off. Raider power armour was tough, but it was a far cry from Brotherhood material. Then again, it was much tougher than the standard armour of medieval soldiers. He fired Righteous Authority at the raider, but it only heated up most areas, and it effectively blocked off his face from many attacks. The joints were the best bet.

The shots to those regions immobilised the raider more, while the Pirates around him didn't bother entering the fray, as it was clear they were just observing the power of the combatants, and wanted to hedge their bets. They would be wrong to bet on a raider.

The raider laughed as he got out his shotgun and tried to fire. It was empty. His laugh turned to fright. Danse took his chance and tackled the savage to the floor. He put Righteous Authority over the shield and into the man's exposed cranium. Danse looked straight into his eyes. "This is for all your victims!" It fizzled with heat and the man stopped struggling.

The Pirates looked in awe, and soon bent their knees to the Paladin. Now was the time to end piracy here. "Alright, do you understand what I'm saying?" About two thirds of the Pirates nodded to this claim. "Very well, the others can translate. The age of piracy and chaos in the Stepstones is over, and we, the Brotherhood of Steel, have come to finally bring order civilisation to your land."

As he walked around his new subjects, he realised he needed to appease to them if he wanted the Brotherhood to continue on its principals. We wish to give you a better way of life than plundering local vessels and going around the sea aimlessly. We wish for you to join our ranks, treat your fellow humans with respect and find the unity you have never had the chance to before. In joining as the Eighth Kingdom of Westeros, you shall be granted privileges even a lord would envy if you bend the knee under the authority of their King, and you shall be under our jurisdiction as we help you find your true potential through the appropriate handling of technology. Don't worry, their alien royalty shall only be a means to an end, for which the Brotherhood will bring! Through you, we can bless the entire world. But from now on, you are under our authority. Understood?"

The pirates nodded. Perhaps out of awe and reverence, or perhaps out of fear.

"Good. Now get any remaining friends of yours on the island to surrender, and then we can negotiate your position here. I will bargain as much as I can for all of you who rightfully surrender, but you must join us because you really believe we will make a difference. I-"

"We're following you because you're the most powerful group we've ever seen." This pirate must have been Westerosi in origins, or at least that's what Danse supposed. "Even those raiders pale compared to your Brotherhood, and they taught us how to use weapons better, how to use guns, Chems, and these collars. What you offer must be even greater." He seemed in awe at least, which was rightly so. "Shall we free our slaves and captives?"

Danse nodded. "If you wish to be alive and accepted in the Brotherhood, and in Westeros, than yes, you should. Grant them rights regardless of the language, pay them for their work and allow them to have promotions when they have earned it. Glad to know our partnership can begin." He sent a flare in the air and within a minute, a Vertibird appeared from the west.

He called into the radio again. "Dark Den has fallen, Anderson. I'm putting Knight-Sergeant Gavil in charge of this island while the others are secured, I think I'll take a more aerial approach this time. You know that the pirates have been training with raiders?"

"We've heard reports of trade sir, but not slave collars! I'll let Gavil know his position, and then we can go for aerial support over the next island. At least four have fallen last time I checked, this makes the fifth I think."

"That's excellent news. I'll join you so we can end the final island." As he boareded the Vertibird, Knight Sergeant Gavil waved him off, surrounded by his new pirate vassals, and clearly unsure of the future-not that Danse blamed him.

The Vertibird set off and Danse grabbed the mini gun in anticipation for more combat. It wasn't coming yet, surprisingly. But it would soon.

He saw whales swimming in the ocean, spewing from their water spouts without any awareness of the battles that the humans above them. No worries about technology, weapons or war, a constant community in the form of the pod life. _Surely a whale's life would be so much easier than this human one,_ he thought. But a human life was the one he had. Something else was there though.

He noticed a green shape like a snake moving not far from the whales, shifting from side to side rather than up and down as the whales did. Some kind of gigantic sea serpent was present here too! As in the stuff of legends! It was too soon for mirelurks and the like to have spread this far south, but it seemed these oceans already had their fair share of monsters. Maybe not all of them were animals either.

"Ready, sir! There appears to be some kind of aerial resistance."

 _Aerial resistance? That can't be possible here, can it?_ The idea of another group having airpower capable of challenging the Brotherhood shook him inside, if not visibly. "Did the raiders get ahold of our ships? Or are there gunners here? Or, God forbid, have the locals adopted it?"

"Neither. It's...coming from the ground."

A shake came to the Vertibird. He looked down. The native ships were firing artillery at them through cannons! He got his gun revved up and fired them at the various smaller ships that travelled alongside bigger vessels, sinking a few lifeboats. He observed more from this precision. Not all of them were medieval wooden ships either. Someone had managed to obtain a working metal ship with its cannon! But how could Westerosi or Essosi access that? Some of the flags didn't appear like those of the Pirates either, for the pirate ones were fleeing.

These ones had sigils resembling a black goat, a broken sword, a blue and white flag, some kind of...yellow uprooted tree, and a red eye of some sort. Or at least that's what he could see from such a high angle. The red eye was the most piercing image, and it covered two ships. A fairly large wooden ship, and the unearthed Earth ship with its mechanical cannons, far quicker and deadlier than anything the other ships had to offer. Perhaps the Island of Maine had been salvaged by someone?

He saw it shoot down a fellow Vertibird effortlessly. This artillery would be far too hard to fight manually. He turned in his radar.

"Sir, Captain Kells. We've experienced an attack by a third party, we request immediate backup!" No response came. "Please sir, if you don't call in aid, our entire mission here is in jeopardy. We could lose our fleet as a whole." The Vertibird was hit again.

"Sir, one of our engines is damaged. We need to make an emergency landing for repairs or else we could crash!" She was right, things weren't looking good. But they had to look forward to something. These invaders were just too dangerous.

As they went down, they saw a small island, no larger than a football field. Far smaller than any of the main islands, it was mostly a barren rock in truth. As the ships approached, Danse wasn't sure this would be his final mission.

A message came. "The Prydwen is incoming. I repeat, the Prydwen is here! Brace yourselves!" The Brotherhood's pride was here, and it was profound in its size and stature. Locals on the ground were stunned at its size and power, while the ships visibly buzzed with activity at the sight of it. If only Liberty Prime could be deployed here.

The airship's lasers, missiles and Vertibirds all came down with force upon the foreign navy, with many wooden ships burning. It was possible there were civilians there, but they had picked their side now. The main metal ship was the only one to dare launch back at the Prydwen, but even it didn't too too much damage in this case. They hit the air region, which would take a while to deflate, during which technicians could easily gather in and fix this damage. The damage was done though and the ship with the red eye started to retreat along with what remained of its wooden vassals. Some of the sellswords switched sides and started aiding the Brotherhood. They would be dealt with later.

But now victory was achieved. Danse could rest easy knowing that the Brotherhood now had a solid base of operations outside the Commonwealth, new potential for recruits, a trade route into Essos and perhaps even local resources that the natives had never thought to discover. All this was possible thanks to intervention.

"Thank you for your help, sir. I and my comrades could've been at the bottom of the ocean in pieces were it not for you." He imagined the Prydwen was smiling back at him as he looked.

"No problem, Paladin. I hear from your fellow Paladins that the Stepstones are primarily under our control now and that the remaining pirate forces have either retreated or surrendered. Civilians there seem fearful for the most part, but your job now is to show them that we are no savages. Understood?"

"Absolutely, sir! It would be a pleasure to teach our values to these people." The attackers were disappearing east and their trails were barely visible. He wasn't knowledgeable on where exactly they would be likely to go, but he wondered. Perhaps it was to these Free Cities, primitive merchant republics where the laws differed greatly to those of Westeros? "Permission to pursue the attackers east, sir? It seems they are going to some of the Essos republics to stock up and trade themselves for a future attack. Perhaps we could learn more about them?"

"Permission denied. We have more important matters to discuss than some sellswords and renegades." Kells seemed sure.

Danse questioned further. "There are slaves in those cities, sir. Thousands under the yoke of the elite, who enable pirates and savages to have place! Surely we should do something!"

"I admire your passion, Paladin, but we have other matters. It seems the local lords, Lord Stannis discounted, are trying to broker marriage pacts, including not just Paladins and officers, but myself, Proctor Ingram and even the Elder himself. If we wish to prevent the main body of Lannisters from gaining suspicion of us, we should go along with it for now. We need to train the next generation after all."

"But sir, surely-"

"You have your orders. Get back to Kings Landing and we we'll find a course of action to be made."

"Yes sir. Over and out." He hung up. He couldn't believe that his superiors were sacrificing a major investigation to 'go native', especially with a group as venomous as the Lannisters, who seemed plain megalomaniacs. The undisputed position of King Robert was keeping the realm together, but the lines of his succession and that successor's interactions with the Commonwealth were far from guaranteed. If they were to manage Westeros truly, the Brotherhood of Steel had to do anything they could to achieve the greater good.

Getting back into a new Vertibird was easy, for leaving these wasted islands lifted the burden of enlightening the masses from his mind. As his Vertibird headed north-west, Danse wondered if there was a better way than this. If there was a leader who could truly care for the common people, rather than trampling them underfoot in the name of a simple bloodline, then that would be the hope that people should have. He looked forward to that day, even if he would probably never see it.


	25. Brienne (I)

They had been marching for several days now, and they had barely reached near the Transit Station now. It was clear where the changes had took place, as forest was suddenly replaced with open habitat. Already though, grasses were spreading into the previously arid climate surrounding the centre. Outside was a great metal sign with what appeared to be a bottle of some drink, though it had a face and limbs like a man!

Brienne wondered what it could have meant to the newcomers from another world for them to build such a place, dedicated solely to a form of local drink. This 'Nuka Cola' as the sounds and advertisements suggested must have certainly been a popular one in that ruined world. Perhaps they worshipped at such a place like the Septs? It would certainly have been a strange set of beliefs to worship a mere drink, she thought. Why not just drink it and be done?

The disappearance of the legendary castle of Summerhall, recreational home of House Targaryen, was one that had rocked the Stormlands and the Seven Kingdoms-one of the last remnants of that ancient dynasty now gone once more, and replaced with a strange alternative.

With harrowing stories from the North of what happened when lands from this other world were added to Westeros, and the mysterious island of whom few had come back, the small council was starting to take action. Her sweet Lord Renly, as a member of this inner circle, and ruler of the Stormlands, demanded an immediate task force to deal with any new threats present in this 'Nuka World' and the desert surrounding it. Even in the arid weather, such a place could not be neglected, especially as for all she knew, it could have been a far more grand place to dwell, and probably covered in Wastelander technologies she had heard so much about.

Between two of the most powerful houses in Westeros, Tyrell and Baratheon, the location of this Nuka World and the things in it could be of great strategic importance in what was to come. She could not know what was going on, but she didn't need to. She had her orders, and she intended to keep them.

"Here we are", the man of Highgarden noted. Corpses littered the ground, many of them men in green fabrics and holding strange metal weapons. A few were Stormlander soldiers, their corpses riddled with holes like cheese. The remnants of litter and small metal pellets covered the scenery. She could see insects, some of them twice as long as a man's foot, crawl around in search of debree, a surreal sight if there was one. As they walked through the core, they saw the original party that was gathered. The familiar face of the Lord of Hornhill led the group, alongside a number of less familiar ones.

"Lord Tarly! It has been much time since we last saw each other. A shame that it has to be in the context of a war of sorts. Otherwise, there would be much we could do." Garlan was the first to enter conversation. She could see the little Lannister roll his eyes at such chivalrous talk. His squire knelt near him to hear what he had to say.

"I share no such issue with the current climate. I went through the lands of Summerhall when I raised banner against the current King when he rebelled. For those of you who don't know, this is Lord Lester Morrigan of Crow's Nest; he and myself were involved in one such battle today, with the help of a local of a very different form." Lord Randyl Tarly noted and pointed to a green skinned man who seemed to tower over all the others, and seemed inhuman. Brienne could feel her jaw drop at the sight of this strange being, and felt surprised he had not tried to attack them. Randyll continued. "I have had much experience on the battlefield, and this has shown today. Even so, do not underestimate these opponents. There weapons are extremely dangerous, and even the strongest of generals could easily be humbled by some lunatics with these weapons." An imposing man such as himself seemed the fearless type that Brienne wished she could be. Or at least she thought she wished. He turned to the group. "Shall we enter?"

"I don't see why not." Lord Tyrion answered. "It's not as if we gain anything by not finding out something new about these lands. Who knows that kind of secrets it could hold?" Lord Randyll made a gesture and the soldiers moved into the base. Brienne followed in line, sword at the ready should any enemies inside become a threat. As they went down the steps and into the lower part, the cracked glass doors seemed to be a distant relic of a time long gone. _The people who were smart enough to make such things as these clearly weren't smart enough to avoid destroying each othe_ r, she thought.

The bizarre vehicle known as the 'monorail' looked like nothing she had ever seen. The voices that came from around the silver and black boxes in the corners made her think at first that she was going mad, until she saw the faces of the others say the same. "By the gods," she said under her breath as she and the guards looked around, seeing the cracked and faded, but still present paints covering the wall, and the strange substance covering the ceiling and floor, not metal or wood.

She had seen giant beetles and hairless rats on the way here, and the guide was a green skinned monster of a man, and yet it was these strange things that intrigued her more. The force that was supposed to reach this 'Nuka World', that had replaced Summerhall didn't seem as if it could move at all, and yet it looked ready for some level of movement. It was impossible to tell at this point, and she feared what could lie ahead. But a true knight shouldn't fear a new destination, only the residents of such a place, if they were evil of course.

"I suppose this is meant to take us more quickly to this 'Nuka World' than a simple walk through the mountains." The young Garlan Tyrell truly seemed a gallant man, and noble in cause. He was just as curious as the others at all these new sights, but he kept his calm regardless, which is better than could be said for Brienne herself. Renly did not wish to risk Loras in such a setting, for much of his training was in tourneys rather than actual battles, something Garlan had more training and desire for.

"I...I'm not sure on the look of this place, I must confess. How do you turn the power back on?" The small lights that were here flickered and didn't have enough power to work, while the monorail was out for now, not responding to any attempts to budge the door open.

"I'm sure the green giant would know how to operate those terminals. Maybe you should guide him on the matter?" The Imp had a point. She was surprised to find out Lord Tyrion had been made a part of the expedition, along with his nervous squire, Podrick Payne. She did not know much of the political situation besides what her sweet Renly had told her. The Kingslayer Jaime Lannister, Kingsguard and former heir to Casterly Rock, had been brutally killed by a green skinned beast not too different to the one with her, but larger, and his father Lord Tywin wanted revenge against all of the Wastelanders for it.

Lord Stark and the King were trying to support and defend the Wastelanders, while new alliances were made. The Lord of Dragonstone, Renly's brother Stannis had made ties with the Brotherhood of Steel entering King's Landing, and now they had joined him in Dragonstone and taken part in some campaign there. It was no secret that the two brothers held resentment for one another.

Renly hinted that Stannis and their Elder had...unnatural relations with one another. Allegedly, Tywin had wished to convince them to invade the Stepstones to demonstrate their military power and value, though it was doubtful they were friendly to Tywin. Renly was on the small council and so his word could certainly be trusted on these matters. More than any Lannister, that was sure.

"I'm sure I can carry through with that request, my Lord." The Imp did not seem the most trust-worthy of men, even if he was of a considerably different temperament to the rest of his family. He had been sent here due to disagreement with his father regarding what had happened. A lion, even a grieving dwarf, was not something to be taken lightly, and so Brienne knew she had to be vigilant around him. His squire was altogether a different person, much more timid even than herself, a boy of twelve at best. He looked around his shoulder often as though someone was coming for him, and he tried his best to maintain his composure.

She nodded in obedience to the orders and went on her way to the source. She then went over to the power terminal to her right to see how to work it. "How does it work?" She asked the green monster that guided them here. He made a gesture and they walked over to a square glass structure jutting out of the wall.

"This is a computer screen-the first you've ever seen, I can only presume. It may look weird, and that's because it is. But if even a supermutant like me can learn it, you can too!" She could see in the background others snickering, and hear lord Randyll saying something about "a sharp spike in his intellect as of the last few hours." She turned back to him. "Ok?"

She nodded reluctantly, though she did not know precisely the meaning of this phrase.

"Right then. It works like this; you press those options on the keyboard to show where you want to go and then on the power. I already unlocked it for you." She nodded with gratitude, and he smiled, though the beast's sharp-toothed grin put her off greatly. He was said to be a runt for his kind, and yet even then, he was eight, maybe nine inches taller than her, and with a bulky build similar to a Clegane brother. He pointed his big, stubby finger at the options on the screen. She quickly worked out how to navigate the screen and pick the power activation option.

She flicked the command that said to turn the power on, and soon the lights of the monorail and the centre buzzed with activity again. She grinned and he put a hand on her shoulder uncomfortably. She was a big and strong woman, but this 'mutant' was even bigger, and if the claims were right, he had only recently reacquainted his humanity. It was not good to test the will of such a monster. She merely noted "it's not as bad as I had imagined." They got up and walked back to the main group in unison.

"Look at you two lovebirds! Wouldn't this be a story for the ages? A handsome knight, a dwarf, a brute woman, a green monster and a humble squire on their adventure to a new land! Dunk and Egg themselves would envy me!" Lord Tyrion heated as the soldiers around them laughed. Lord Tarly shared none of their happiness. He started walking out.

"Won't you be joining us, Lord Randyll, on this splendid journey?" Lord Garlan commenced.

"I fear not, sire. Your father wishes that I return to the Reach in case another Shidt of land occurs, and to mount a military expedition from the west of your situation deteriorates. Any locals will face our wrath if they choose to resist our rule. The Reach and Stormlands are firm allies, and we will maintain order at any cost. I wish you well on your journey." The young Lord from Highgarden respectfully bowed and Randyll and his guards left to return to Hornhill. Garlan turned to the rest of them.

"I guess that puts me in charge of our fine journey to this Nuka World. May we find what happened to this place and bring it to order!" He drew out his sword, as did his soldiers, and soon Brienne and the others were too. Tyrion merely raised an empty chalice he had brought.

"Ain't that cute? A celebration before you all die on the Gauntlet! You primitive assholes won't last a minute there! Just you wait and see!" The voice cut out all their celebrations, with one foot soldier falling off the edge into the tracks below, spraining his ankle.

"Let us waste no time, then!" One bannerman who's name Brienne didn't remember cried. "Let's kill the savage who said this!" More men cheered. Brienne looked to Crag who seemed unsure on what to do next. His familiarity with things meant he must have known something about here.

"What is it you know of this place so far?" Brienne asked warily. "Have you been here before? Do you know of any alternate ways out of the place, besides this 'Gauntlet' the voice speaks of?" She was intently looking into the beast's worried eyes. But anxiety wasn't what she wanted to hear in return. "Do you?"

"No, I was about to make my way into Nuka World and explore the region for myself. I was more vicious back then and I wanted to kill and eat all the raiders there and take their stuff. Rule for myself if you will. That's right, Nuka World is full of raiders as they say. I would have gone through it, but the merging of our worlds distracted me, and by the time I returned to here, I was much more cautious than I was before. More human. I have a right to worry now."

"Raiders? Were those like the gunners that attacked your first party?" Brienne asked. Podrick Payne, the young squire came over and interjected. "You talking about the residents? The voice who spoke to us? I don't trust him. He seems to represent the raiders there. Are the raiders hostile?"

"Very. They're loosely held together, but that makes them very powerful. I was a fool to think I could take them on by myself. If there are really hundreds of them, then it won't be an easy fight. Even with all of us. We should be vigilant at least." He took a deep breath in and seemed more relaxed. None of Brienne's anxiety had been cured by the news.

"If we're in for a hard fight," Lord Tyrion began- "we might as well have a drink and get down to business." Had he gone mad? A drink? The Imp must not have been as smart as she had heard!

"What use would getting drunk help us in a place of traps?" Lord Morrigan chipped in.

"No, no, no. Not drunk. Just a bit of Arbor wine to calm the nerves and for us to assess the situation more fairly. Then, we can discuss how to deal with these savages and maybe do some liberation of any civilians are there." Now his theory seemed more plausible. But Brienne still had questions.

"With respect, my Lord, we have not the slightest idea of what the habitat of Nuka World is even like. Not the terrain, not the enemies, not the creatures living there, and no knowledge of this Gauntlet. We can't just charge in and die!"

"And that we won't. The strategy will adapt as our situation does, as it always of use." He was slurring in his speech. It was clear he had drank far more than he was letting on. He was dealing with loss though, so she couldn't be too quick to dismiss him. "A rigid plan that based meticulously from start to finish with a set standard is destined to fail; it bends and breaks when the unexpected comes. But a flexible one swims through change like a trout in water, and that is the way we shall go. We shall work things out as we go along." He reached into his rucksack and took out some sashes of wine. "Shall we?" He said with that wicked dwarf grin, that only made his face even more repulsive.

The others had little to no hesitation, and they boarded the train's seats. Tyrion and Podrick went near the front, while Brienne was next to Lord Morrigan and the beast Crag. An uncomfortable position indeed. The rusted steel and the torn leather she sat in was no better. The foam was at least somewhat comfortable like a sponge. The glass was cracked in places, though not fully shattered. At least the lights, which somehow needed no candles or any fire to run, functioned well. The ones in the back occasionally flickered, as she turned to see.

The soldiers assembled in the back passages and sat down, prepared for whatever was next. Of all those here, no one knew how to work this train. Garlan was the first to speak this question.

"So how exactly is this 'train' supposed to work. Do we just sit here while it automatically sends us? Is the train alive somehow?" The soldiers next to him whispered about this accusation. "Crag, would you happen to know?"

"Not exactly, but it has something to do with the front of the monorail. I don't drive, but that green lever may offer you some help." She wondered what a lever was, but when he pointed to the green stick next to the pilot seat, she soon understood. Now was the time they could push on their journey and make their way to Nuka World.

She got up to the front of the train, though Garlan hesitated. "What are you doing, lady Brienne?"

"I've been told how to get the train going. I'd say it's of paramount importance we get there as quickly as possible to deal with this threat." She pulled the leaver after a second of hesitation. "Here we go."

The doors closed immediately. A thud hit the entire carriageway. For several seconds, Brienne stained around and wondered if anything had actually happened. Men started mumbling and complaining about what was happening, and she looked at Crag with a look of annoyance. _How could you be so stupid as to not know how to work this?_ She thought they would move quickly, but now they seemed to-

The train started moving now. It was slow at first, but it began to pick up pace. They began to say goodbye to the transit station and hello to darkness, as only the basic lights in the train and a few barely functioning ones in the tunnel lit the way.

"I've got some kind of 'comic'." One of the men at the back said. The others started arguing about how he had acquired such a strange form of book, or even if they could or should currently read it. Tyrion tried to remain calm and downed a mouthful of his wine sachet.

Some open territory within the tunnels came on the way there, but on the outside opposite the train tracks were dozens of...she couldn't call them people. They were degenerated and rotting from the inside out. Many noticed the passing train and the people in it. One or two tried to charge at the Windows, only to be knocked off by the force of the train, which was now moving faster than any galloping horse. It shouldn't be long now, hopefully, she thought.

The open part passed soon, and the passage of darkness continued once again. She finally got out of the pilot seat, assuming it would just take them to their destination, and went back to her old one, only to find it occupied by Lord Morrigan, who was cracking a joke with Crag and a soldier she thought was called Walder.

"Ah, Brienne the Beauty!" This Walder came out and said the one name she had always despised. "It's a...pleasure to see you at this fine hour. I heard Lord Renly himself wished you a part of this expedition. I can't imagine it was to please the troops on the field! Hahahaha!" Lord Morrigan let a snicker come out, while Crag grunted. He at least didn't find it funny. But he didn't protest either. Brienne went to sit with the little lion instead.

"Don't worry about men being arses, my lady. I know what it's like to be marginalised in such situations by men who don't understand us. I may not be a six and a half foot woman, or a man-eating supermutant, but I have been despised from birth, rejected and mocked by my own family, and the only one who respected me is dead. Trust me, shutting out such criticisms is the best thing for you. We can't all be spineless in this life. Isn't that right, Pod?"

She turned to Podrick, who was busy stuffing his face with a packet of some old food from the vending machine. He looked up innocently. "Sir, it tastes better than it looks!" Tyrion gave him a firm slap on the top of his back.

"I'm glad you're always so attended to the situation, Pod. You'll do just great in this wasteland I've heard so much about! Maybe you'll last two days before you're eaten by something there!"

Brienne wasn't a particular fan of sarcasm, given how often it was used against her, but she admitted the Imp had some of a point here. The limited light helped hide some of his face's worst features, that was also certain. He got up quickly though to get a flask of wine. This one was seperate from the others and was clearly personal in use age. It must have been some kind of coping mechanism he had for his grief, which he was clearly repressing with his drinking and whoring.

In the darkness, she decided that it would be best to embrace it and simply fall into sleep's cold influence. Hopefully the stranger wouldn't take her in this state.

She must have been asleep about an hour or two when the voices from the speakers returned. A loud boom began. The voice was of a woman, very well rehearsed and charming like that in a theatre.

"Hello, and on behalf of the Nuka World Corporation, we'd like to welcome each and everyone of you aboard the Nuka Express Monorail!" The others who were sleeping were now settling out of their places to hear the noises. "For your own safety, please remain seated or utilise the handrails while the train is in motion." Podrick started to shout.

"Look over there! It's like nothing I've ever seen!" It was a sizeable mound of land, rounded in a way unlike any of the pyramids of the East, and yet it looked like no natural mountain either. The top of the mountain was a white colour, as if capped by snow; yet it was clear even at this distance to not be the case, as there was no difference between it and the brown below.

The voice confirmed it. "If you direct your attention to the right side of the monorail, you can observe Nuka-World's famous Fizztop Mountain. Standing at over one- hundred metres tall, Fizztop is the largest man made structure in Nuka World, and features the five-star Fizztop Grille!" The wastelands humans were capable of building some great things from what she had heard, but a mountain of energy drink? With five stars inside! She had to see to believe it! The others gazed at the sight of the strange object. The monorail continued on.

"To your left now is the Safari Kingdom-" the voice said as the members looked to the side to witness it. "-where you can see all the animals from around the world! Our animal living accommodations fulfil *all* of the UN's minimum animal rights requirements! That's how you know we're in a good position!"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow as he saw the signs of the Safari, with an image of a lion on it and the upcoming structures ahead by him. "It seems this place was designed to entertain the masses in its primary days. Perhaps if we set something like this up, the smallfolk may be less restless, with all these distractions and such. How on Earth did they manage to build all these rides and structures though? It must have taken years. Maybe there'd be less war if there was a bit more entertainment in the world." Brienne reflected on this as she saw the next part of the park as it approached.

"Coming up now is Nuka Town USA! Home of the Nuka-dodgems, arcades and the office of John Caleb Bradberton, as well as-" the signal was soon cut off and replaced with static, with a signal hurting everyone's ears as they covered them to this racket. Lord Morrigan was the first to shout. "Looks like whatever was running this is breaking! We better see how long it is to go!" Some power went back on, but a new voice began speaking.

"You guys wanna get through the Gauntlet and beyond alive? Then you're going to have to do as I say pretty precisely. You don't want to ignore what I have to say, as they'll shred you to bits otherwise." The others looks around for the source.

Garlan spoke up to respond. "And why should we trust you over the previous men to message us? What is there exactly you have that he doesn't?"

"Don't blame Red-Eye, he's just training to entertain his clients, and the Overboss. He's the one you need to look out for. I'll message you again when you get close. If you do. Over and out." The message cut out now, and after another few seconds of static, the old broadcast returned. "Welcome to Nuka World. Enjoy your stay here, and don't forget to try one of our delicious Nuka Cola refreshments!" The train arrived in a building and finally came to a stop.

"Look what the cat dragged in from the outside world! It seems you guys come from those new lands beyond Nuka World, not the old Commonwealth. That means you're going to get fucked over even more than the other ones! Hahahaha! Have fun, and die well!" They got off the train pods and looked around.

There were two doors on opposite sides, as well as an elevator similar to that at the transit centre's above ground facility. It didn't seem active though. One of the doors had to work, she hoped. Perhaps she could bypass the Gauntlet and move straight in and wipe out the raiders. She pointed her sword to the door closest.

"We should see that door first, and if it doesn't open, we should push with all our might. Maybe then it will nudge and we can be free!" The guard Garren went for the door first, trying to open it normally, and with no lock in sight, he tried budging it. It wasn't enough. "Come and help him!" She said as she prepared to push. The force put in to the shoving was great for her, but the door only seemed to creak. It was clearly made of metal, and she could see on the other side someone had placed chains there to make sure no one got out!

"It's jammed on the other side!" Brienne shouted. "We need as many as we can!" The combined force of more than twenty men tried to push the door and it began to creak quite heavily. She felt crushed under the weight of the other's combined mass. Walder's elbow was lodged in her side, Garlan was up front trying to gain the greatest load, while Crag was busy looking through the other door, warily and slowly. The voice on the com went out again, but she was too busy to hear what it said.

"The other way's dangerous, we should get through the way you're going!" He exclaimed.

"Then get over here and help!" LesterMorrigan was straining with every breath, certainly a sign of his age. Brienne herself was tough enough to rival most men, but the supermutant was even stronger, and so he could help. Lord Tyrion of course stranded back, as no-one could deny a dwarf could do little in the region of strength. Crag jammed himself against the door, and it began to tear off its hinges.

"Say, what? These guys are actually managing to break the door! Come on, why not just give us a little fun in the Gauntlet! You won't regret it...much." She ignored this 'Red-Eye's' taunts and the push got greater, firmer, closer to freedom. The door was on the brink of breaking at this point, and there was little they could do anymore.

Podrick got up from down the tracks, looking for something and saw the heaving around this door. He laughed, perhaps at the state of everyone else involved, or perhaps at the absurdity of the situation, but he laughed regardless. Tyrion walked up. "By the gods, you're taking your time. He gave a quick but firm kick at an empty spot of door.

It suddenly collapsed, and Brienne was crushed under the weight of all the men with her. Garlan crawled out first and sighed. "Well, we've made it through. Sir Walder, would you do the honour!" The arrogant man came up and proudly walked down the stairs with a swagger to him, as if bragging that see Garlan gave him the first right. Garlan followed second, and the silver door was open at the bottom of the staircase. Suddenly they all heard a beeping.

Brienne turned around to see if anyone had come to ambush them. Tyrion asked. "Has someone picked up something they shouldn't?" The others shook their heads. The voice in the com said "Uh oh. Tick tick tick!"

Boom!

Walder was blown to pieces by something, his legs splattering around like paint, and a moan came out of his half-body before he succumbed. Even the hardened soldiers were shocked at the sudden brutality of this attack!

This was just the first of their worries, as the door started to close, abrupt slowly. Garland and Lord Tyrion ran to the door first, as they were the most important guests.

"I'm sorry, my friends, but there would be great danger if we were compromised." They got through the door with one guard, and it closed. The others were trapped now! "You seem far better suited for combat and danger than I," Tyrion said. "I'm sure you can go through this with ease. We'll try and find a way to rescue you and bargain for your safe return. If we can, that is. We will do our best to ensure your survival and your safe return. I promise!" Brienne knew this was a shallow promise at best.

And now the door was fully closed. The two were seperate once more. Tyrion and Garlan looked at one another and began their trek into the basin, which Brienne could only see hints of from her angle.

"Those highborn bastards! How dare they abandon us!" A soldier cried out.

"Don't speak ill will of your liege's liege," Morrigan replied. "If they wish to protect those who can't fight, then that is what they do. We must obey, and you even more so!"

The soldier skulked away. "Yes, milord."

Morrigan turned to her. "So, as you are in charge now by default, what do you suppose we do here, lady Brienne?" She pondered for a second, and realised quickly.

"It seems to be the Gauntlet after all." Now all they had to do was survive its trials and terrors.


	26. The Lord's Anointed

The Anointed emerged from the river, cold as ice, and as he was born. He could feel the moisture around his white hair and beard, as if like the coldest of showers. None could see him in the darkness, enlightened only by the moon and the strange stars. To bathe in the cool autumns of this strange weather was a risky thing, but the Lord of Light would protect him throughout.

He dried himself with his old towel, throwing it around his shoulders and rinsing himself as the scents of the river stuck to him. "Damn." He said as he looked at his scars. He put on his underwear and the facial scarf, obscuring the ruins of his mouth from view. He looked out to the horizon and saw the beauty of Rh'lorr's creation. Not like the dreaded, radiation tinted Wasteland he saw so much of.

Destiny was rarely a thing he had once contemplated. It was seen by him as a pure fiction, something to excuse the suffering he had endured. Or that anyone had endured. The isolation, addiction and pain inside he had tried to mask, only for society to reject him, until he found new friends. But in time, even they had abandoned him when he needed them, left him to the elements of this bountiful new world. This was before the Lord anointed him though.

Now he knew his destiny, his purpose. To pave the way for the saviour of the worlds, new and old. To mentor him into service. To stave back the eternal darkness and cold that was coming, and the invisible fires of radiation that dwelled in the Wasteland, spreading into this pristine one. He would have his influence on the greatest man who had ever walked the Earth. A true legacy to uphold.

The underrobes came on next, as he focussed himself to dressing. Black and cheaply knitted, it was not comfortable at all. His scars old and new seemed to burn as fabric caught into them. But it was necessary. For comfort could not spring forth new life, or bring unity to troubled people's. The Lord of Light would need to be known across the entire continent, as it was in the eastern lands. He wondered what those eastern priests and priestesses would think about what was happening here. Surely they would marvel at what was being achieved for the coming of their saviour.

He fixed his gloves into positions over the skin, making sure as little as possible, if anything would have showed once he was dressed. . The pains were still memorable to him, of knife and bullet, of beast and flame. Here, through the will of Rh'lorr, he had survived and been preserved. The rituals were upcoming though, and it was his duty to carry through with them and offer the sacrifices needed.

His upper robes came on next. A bright red that stood out from the black robes covering his flesh and face; they showed part of his new identity. The Anointed saw that the flames of Light reflected off the light fabrics, and magnified the power of the Red God in glory. When he had been a mere acolyte, he had questioned the useage of black in the robes, but it was through his realisation that shadow was a friend of the light that he came to embrace it.

As he came down from the river, the hills showed the glory of the growing settlement in this part of the Riverlands. As they had gone south from the Commonwealth, their success had been limited amongst the locals, and they had nowhere to practise their rituals without interruption from lords and castellans.

Even in the Commonwealth, Minutemen and raider gangs ruined their mission by wars and clearances; the Minutemen were idealists for a way of life that was dying; the old American way, and in their misplaced idealism, they were unintentionally rebelling against the one true God. But this was being dealt with.

Soon, all the Commonwealth would be under Rh'lorr's champions, the Forged, and their followers. And with these lands of Oldstones to the west and Dary Castle to the south, even the local Lord was starting to submit himself to Rh'lorr's glory.

Even Saltpans offered new recruits into the ranks of Rh'lorr! His miraculous powers shows more than any local tokens ever could.

A peasant woman obtained from a near village was tied to the wooden pole, caught with idols of the Seven, the false gods of the southern Westerosi. He did not enjoy what must come, but it was his duty He knew what he must do.

"Acolytes! The Lord of Light demands His sovereign reverence from us. The time of idols, objects and fakes is over! We must show our worship for Him by bringing about the flames of change to these heathens!" He confidently smiled at the sight of the statues of the so called 'Seven' as they burned. Where were their faithful to save them now?

"Whether they come from Westeros or from the Wasteland, the heathen's debauchery has no possible excuse, and for that they must find faith in the Lord, whether by giving themselves to Him, or by the flames coming to them." He turned to the Liberator Inferno, a former raider who had come to find faith, and gave him the command.

The infidel screamed as the flamethrower cut into her clothes and flesh without mercy. She had the chance to convert, and yet she chose instead her Maiden's mercy. It was not pain that overcame these souls, but great joy, for they were leaving the nightmarish conditions of this world and journeyed into the great bounties that Rh'lorr would provide for her.

He could hear Inferno laughing in his cackle, clearly in anticipation for that woman being cleansed of her sins and finding new life in the flames. He put up the flame shield he had around his face, revealing his iron coloured hair, and grinned, making his cheek scar stand out all the more. As the last of her screams perished, the executioner turned to the Anointed for approval.

"There any more you wish to deal with here, sir?" Truth be told, the Anointed was jealous of Inferno's status as a member of the Forged before the Shift, but even so, he was still of a lower rank in the political factor. He had burned many for the flames, and now for te Lord, he was truly a holy man.

"Not humans, I'm afraid. We caught some feral ghouls attacking initiates and settlers who had chosen to give themselves over. For such savages, the flames are an even greater mercy, for they no longer can even choose whether to follow Rh'lorr, thanks to the invisible false flames of radiation. You can burn them at leasure and spread the ashes through the hills. Should any hostile lords come to question our mission, show them our gifts too."

Inferno seemed disappointed upon hearing there were no humans to burn and liberate from their fleshy hell, but he nodded in approval. "Sure thing, boss." He turned off the heat to his flamethrower and dispatched the empty fuel tank, before moving on to his duties.

To address himself through secular terms could get Inferno whipped on orders from Saugus, but he was only new to this business, so he could understand his ignorance.

As he looked around, he saw new recruits and Forged guards overseeing the cutting down of the forests, rare in the Wasteland, but common here, for their intended purpose of sacrifice. The hills of the Riverlands looked truly beautiful with the great Wicker-men that were being built out of those cut down trees. Souls were being liberated by the dozens in such structures, and their cries of freedom could be heard for miles around.

Whether from fear or from genuine curiosity, or even a convulsion of the Lord himself, many had turned to Rh'lorr without the need to die in this world. Over three hundred villagers and the son of a local lord had turned themselves over to him in the last week alone. This was merely the beginning. Fire would come to all, whether through mission or by the beautiful flames.

The realms of Westeros and the world could not be ready for the Second Long Night in such a state of apostasy. Such apostasy and debauchery had also caused the Great War once, with all the innocent who had been lost in that. Anointed could not afford this to happen again. It had to be necessary, regardless of how brutal or depraved it may seem to the infidels. The same infidels who let the poor, crippled and peasants rot in the fields as they lived in luxury based soley on their birthright. In the east, false followers of Rh'lorr kept spaces and ruled in similar luxury, indulging every perversion possible. In this new world, it would be faith and deed, not bloodline, that let men and women ascend the ranks and join their Lord in His glory. All the preaching had drained him though. He felt thirsty.

He went to the banks of the river to filter some water, even removing his mask to take a drink. The acolytes would not see them, for his injuries were hideous to look upon, and they may doubt the glory of the Light. They felt awful as well as the cold air brushed on them and reignited the fires of pain within him. Such pain was necessary, he thought. But that doesn't mean it was comfortable. He placed a finger over the deep scar on his cheek, placing it down the ridge. There was still the occasional bit of blood and puss around this area, but it was healing well, praise Rh'lorr! He took the bottle he had collected of the water and pressed it to his lips. He bent his head back.

The fresh, clean and radiation-free water felt wonderful to the taste. The introduction of filtering systems from the wasteland made the water far more drinkable than the pond scum that the locals previously had. Camp Longhill was a great success in this regard, and would be the first of many.

A fellow inquisitor from one of the other camps came to see him. It was the lady Smith, formerly known as Becca Red-nose, a former smallfolk who had come from an abusive relationship where her husband had burnt her nose using a stove following a dispute. After he and his allies arrived, that very stove was used to burn him for his crimes, and Becca became one of the first initiates. She was also an increased target of House Tully and its vassals for subverting the peace in lands further west, near the reviving Oldstones. The Anointed had once thought the Minutemen would join in this great mission and see the light, but alas they were as blind as the rest.

"I see you've taken some time out here alone." She said with a hand in her robe. She took out a bottle of beer that she had taken from her own camp. Drunkenness was not something Rh'lorr would want, but small quantities would not normally harm. "Would you like a bottle yourself?" She asked humbly.

The Anointed out a hand up and shook his head. "I...I cannot claim such drinks are right for me. They put me through a dark time before, and I do not wish to return to it. Save it for the poor or wounded in their need." She nodded and sat next to him as they looked at the river. Her red hair shone like bronze in the moonlight, particularly from the fires spewing from the heretics.

"What do you imagine our Lord wishes for us? For our worlds? For Azor Ahai? Winter is coming, as the Starks would say. But this winter is worse than all others, our high priestess herself says so. She saw it in the flames, and the Lord is never wrong. Can you say you are ready for that?"

"I can't say these seasons are like anything I'm used to. But if they're like you say they are, it'll take a lot of adapting for Wastelanders to be able to survive and thrive. Which they must if we wish to avoid extinction."

"Extinction?"

"The complete death of their kind."

"Wastelander and Westerosi alike will feel the wrath of the Great Other when he comes. The Five Forts show us that Essos and the rest of the world will be no different when he comes, for the sun brightens all, and all shall darken. Azor Ahai will know and combat this though. The darkness will only be temporary. You must remain faithful." In truth, the idea of beings of ice and magic seemed utterly absurd to him, even if it is what the priestess had told, along with the other priests. Once nuclear weapons had destroyed the wasteland, while this world was torn by normal wars. For despite all the technological advancements that have been made, war never changes.

"I am faithful. I've seen what he did, the things he had been gifted with, he must be blessed. I had thought of them as pyromaniac savages, only out to burn enemies, but now I realise they were right all along. The cold, the radiation, the non-humans. They all have to go! I'm sorry if I sound weak sometimes, I just try and remind myself from where I came, and see how grateful I am for new life."

"But it is exactly by looking back that we face temptations to return to our old lives of poverty and misery. Look at my face." He looked up to her from the water, and she put her hand on her ruined nose. "This is the consequences of a godless life. I deserved to be beaten and downtrodden by my husband, and he equally deserved the flames. We equally deserved our punishment of desolation."

"How can you say you deserved that? No one deserves such things! We helped you from the oppression you were undergoing and gave you a new chance. Your husband was less willing and so he needed to be forced into Rh'lorr's light. It wasn't your fault what happened." He put a hand in her shoulder. Despite her injury, and her crooked teeth, she had a form of beauty that only he seemed to appreciate. "As you said. The past has been put behind us. We have destiny to catch up to."

"Indeed we do." She said. "Thank you for being so supportive of me in this hard time. It's just I still think of those times...very often. Can't help it. Need all the support I can get. Hope your camp continues to thrive. And may He bless you."

"And you as well." He smiled. She got up and walked back to her settlement, as her guards awaited. Rh'lorr be good! This relationship could hopefully blossom into something great in future, even if she was his junior by years and of a very different background. He wanted to have her with him as they watched the Hero wield Lightbringer against the forces of Night.

After another sip of purified water, he got up and went back to the camp. By now, the last screams had ceased and a smell of meat was in the air. It sickened him for certain, for it smelled very much like pork, one of the better meats. He could not conceive of such an abomination, and yet that is exactly what the raiders of the Commonwealtj and wildlings beyond the Wall engaged in.

A betrayal of one's own species could not be tolerated. One week, he had spotted a false initiate feasting in the flesh of the recently deceased, warm from the stake. He was not given the mercy of the flames and was instead hanged for his deviance. The Anointed would not tolerate deviancy of any kind in his camp. For he could see things. Things in the flame that could come true, potentially.

He had heard that the proselytiser of the faith herself had this ability to see through fire and find things out about the universe. While hers were directed and organised though, his were rare and not dependent on his will, but on Rh'lorr's. He was not ready for these gifts yet. It was her who brought the Red God to himself, and then to the Forged, the instruments of His wrath upon the cold, unforgiving world.

But he was ready to carry out service for Rh'lorr's name. Now was the time to take down the wicker men of the hills. The original Rh'lorrist missionaries had no such concepts, but the suggestions of wicker men to both intimidate and represent a greater cause were taken to like a fish in water. It was good that all peoples could collaborate in bringing about change in this nightmarish world.

The farms being constructed in the region were vastly superior to the small and weak settlements of the Wasteland, and with little to no radiation to hinder their fertility. That said, numerous Wasteland flora and fauna were proving of use. The wet areas of the Riverlands priced ideal for growing tarberry, to such an extent that they were spreading even beyond the farms into wild habitats.

Horses were a great blessing for longer travels. Similarly, attempts to breed Brahmin with these 'aurochs' were also going surprisingly successfully. He supposed the brahmin's one headed ancestors must have been similar to aurochs, and the benefits of both would make good livestock. Similarly, mole rats, radrabbits, sheep, pigs and radstags were also of use for food. But he saw something else had been trapped here.

"What is that, initiate Greb?" He asked Greb, a thirty-seven year old ginger haired tanner with a goatee who helped construct the leather armour that the Lord's anointed like himself were to possess. He was a helpful member of the community, but it wasn't normal for him to hold down a beast. Nor was the beast he was holding.

"It's...I don't even know what it is, but it's better that we know."

Truth be told, the creature was truly hideous. Definitely of the Wasreland critters, but it was much rarer than any he ever saw in his travels. Perhaps he hadn't seen the right areas, though he had heard the rumours. It's skin was pale and pink, with no hair of any kind. It's body was deformed by all accounts, and yet it was still capable of functioning somehow.

It was an abomination of man that Rh'lorr didn't create, and thus by all accounts it should perish, and yet he stood in a morbid fascination with it. Its bony appendages were present around its mouth and back, while its legs were prowling and built similarly to those of a dog, though larger. It was clearly a predator of others for the blood on its mouth and appendages suggested. It was a centaur!

"It's a centaur. Very rare in the Wasteland, predatory. Probably has plenty of meat on it though. If we could get a breeding population, we could distribute them around the world and allow Rh'lorr's people to be fed or protected. I say we let it live for now." And the initiates subdued the beast and led it into a pen for its own safety.

The search for another would be conducted soon. The journey through the swamps back to the Commonwealth would be hard, especially as 'the Neck' was full of both invasive mirelurks and the native alligators, or 'lizardlions' as the locals called them. And yet the people's of the wasteland too needed Rh'lorr. Diamond City needed Rh'lorr.

Now he went on to the road known as the Kings Road to see if any traders were passing through. A new shipment of goods could be coming in from the south that could feed them, while they could use it as a chance to find new converts in the order. He could tell some upcoming Lord or army of the good news or Rh'lorr and his chosen saviour. This force though appeared altogether different, and they came from the North.

A substantial military force of various banners made their way south with swords, guns for hire and dozens of horses. Perhaps more than two thousand men were in this group, along with squires and peasants. This was a huge opportunity!

The first one to come into contact was a seeming Lord with a sigil of two black hammers against a blue and white background of a vague similarity to some long lost tribe before the War. He started to court this Lord. "Greetings, soldiers. Would any of you wish to hear about the Lord of Light and his message to the peoples of the world?" The man before him was a shaggy type with brown hair and a glance on his face. The Anointed thought he saw the man roll his eyes.

"I don't see why you wish to hold us up. We've been walking for weeks down from the Wasteland, had to hire local forces to help us out of that dreaded place. We don't need to give our lives to some foreign god of Essos instead of meeting our families. Why should I be duped into your nonsense?"

"This isn't just some petty belief, my good sir! This is something that could change your life. The faith of the Seven are but empty idols who cannot help you, but the Lord can bring you peace and prosperity. Save your lands."

"I'm afraid I'll pass on your offer, Wastelander." He turned behind to address his subservients. "Off men, we set to King's Landing soon! Ready yourselves, and don't listen to these rabblers, they'll probably want all your money and lands!" How rude of the man, the Anointed thought.

Another man from in the group diverged and came towards him. This group had a banner of three dogs on them. He was preparing to talk to the man approaching, but a much larger man came forward and pushed him out of the way. At first he thought it was a supermutant, given how huge they were, though he saw hints of pink skin underneath, so this was a man, just a very large and powerful man. He eyed down him from under his helm and started with a boom.

"You and your friends have supplies?" Cold eyes penetrated through the helm to look at the Anointed and his allies. He seemed suspicious of the Lord's followers. "You hold quite a few farms around here and enough wood for those towers. You clearly have a lot to spare, it's only fair we have a share of it. Food for the soldiers and all that." He looked at Inferno as he came up to see. "Your friends from the wasteland? Those are strange weapons."

Inferno broke out. "These, my friend are flame throwers. Pull the trigger and they hear up some oil and spit fire to level forests if need be. Some great shit, plus it helps people be freed from their mortal chains and all that other shit. Also good at repealing those who want to steal from us." Anointed realised this was a thread, and raised his hand to lower before anymore comments could be released.

"So, like having your own hand-held dragon?" The giant of a man questioned. "That would be of great use, no doubt. Who would challenge that? You folk use these weapons often?"

"Yeah, you could say that. Getting into the Forged can be a bitch, with all the punishment and that, but the results are definitely worth it. And since that Red Woman came over and showed us what we were truly following, things have only gotten better. Call us up if you're interested." The Anointed wasn't too keen on Inferno's tactic, but it appeared to work on this giant knight.

"I'll keep an eye out for you and your boss. My own would wish words though, more urgently, so we'll see if anything comes up. Soldiers need to rest, after all" And so the giant moved on with his soldiers in tow.

-

The next hour consisted of troops simply moving through to get south to where they needed to be. Only a few soldiers had shown interest in what they were offering, and a few made offers of initiation. They would become followers of the Lord of Light in due time. If they reached the rank of Ascended, they would be given the initiation ritual to evoke a full fledged member of the Forged, the elite wing of their society. The Anointed One hoped that he could reach that privilege some day. To personally serve Azor Ahai would be a privilege so great, he figured.

Many rejected however. A few knights had laughed at him in his armour. One of the Eastern sellswords with a lisp spat at his foot, while a drunken man came and had a conversation with him.

This had gone well at first, as the man was a loyal follower of Rh'lorr and was said to have a great gift from him. But things turned sour when the Anointed spoke of Azor Ahai reborn, with this man revealing himself a heretic. Far from being a heathen, he felt that the man was merely misguided and ignorant. What was worse though was his addiction to the toxic drink that was alcohol.

If he had been Azor Ahai, he would have banned it utterly from his followers. But he was not, and the Champion permitted the drinks for now.

Perhaps the next harvest of men would be of greater value. If he found enough converts to Rh'lorr, he may recieve a request from Saugus in the Wasteland to join. What he would go through to join, he wasn't sure, as it was said that many died instead of succeeding through the rites, and yet he felt protected. Fire would be with him throughout.

A courier approached from up north on the road. He saw the settlers and got off his steed quickly, starting to run. It was for him. As the boy walked, a mockingbird flew above.

"Sir...the...Forged from further north wish to discuss a matter with you...they say it's...important." He looked and saw the boy had a scald mark on his cheek. This must have been the price boy paid for his ignorance of the Red God. As the Anointed looked below, he could see the man had a picture of some of the same bird in his pocket, perhaps another letter for another man? He handed out a second letter. The Anointed opened it.

 _To the Anointed,_

 _Your gifts that include visions, as well as your duty to follow the Lord of Light, are great in value, and word about them has spread across our cause and beyond. The petty raiders of the Commonwealth fear us, fear you, as do my contemporaries across the Narrow Sea._

 _It is said you can see into the flames as I, and interpret them for your own on those bases. You have shown yourself to be beyond the mere inquisitor rank that your superiors have given you. You show yourself to be of a far greater flame, second only to Azor Ahai himself, whom come from that poisonous Wasteland._

 _It is the Lord's will that you came to serve us, and you shall play a great role in the wars to come, the flames themselves say it._

 _It is time for you to come North and be initiated under His laws under the forge. We will need every fire source available to us when the War for the Dawn happens, but we cannot take this alone. It is Azor Ahai's will that we play a trick on the great houses._

 _It is no secret that the North and Westerlands are at hostilities with one another both before and after the shifting of worlds, and he wishes this be exploited. I would question the use of such guile normally, but those are his words, not mine, and it is he who shall lead us._

 _We are to create armours that pretend to be both Lannister and Stark forces. This means we must avoid using our guns and Fire wielders unless absolutely necessary, but the Lord is with you. Do this, and the realm will be divided and desperate. And his will shall come to be._

 _For the night is dark and full of terrors,_

 _Melisandre, Priestess of Rh'lorr._

Once he closed it, he knew what his purpose would be. He didn't feel he could possibly deserve to be a member of such an organisation, so close to the chosen one, and yet it was happening. It was also true there were too few of the Forged and Rhlorrists in general to unite the realm in their current state. They needed disorganisation, chaos. Fire burning throughout the realm. The Lord allowed deception when it served his ends, after all. They would need to start a war.


	27. The Building Maester (III)

Another day in the courtyard outside Goodneighbour, surrounded by the major Hancock's hired guns, and with plantations of all sorts of local plants to be grown- some of which were not so savoury. It was an unusually sunny day by Wasteland standards, or so Yandel thought. Traders of Westerosi inclinations had been seen travelling through with cows and the odd aurochs instead of the normal sight of Brahmin that they were becoming used to. Wastelanders still marvelled at the sight of horses, the very thing they were used to in their travels.

The days since Cressen's disappearance were growing, but Yandel and his allies were unphased. They had spent whatever they could collecting resources and making requests from the Citadel to acquire money, metal, oil and other such resources. It was the truth that they were poor fighters and mainly used knowledge to their advantage, but now the one could cancel the other. Now they could use metal machines to fight for them.

"Pass over that wrench!" Yandel said to Coleman, who was busy gathering a cog to fix into this leg, supposedly belonging to a 'sentry bot' a powerful and deadly robot that could be used to assault large fortifications with relative ease. He handed it over with a grin as he had finished putting the cog in a working place. Gathering resources had been long and difficult, and a lot had involved finding scrap parts and salvaging dead robots. But progress was coming. Soon, an army of metallic friends may be built. The knowledge he had gained from the dead raider was surely useful, and now he and his compatriots could take their revenge.

"How can we control them from afar?" One of the guards asked. "Is it magic of some form, Maester?" He seemed genuinely intrigued. This one had only recently been sent from elsewhere.

"Not exactly, Ser Marwyn. It is through the Wastelander technology- the same they use to power their radios for that matter."

"Perhaps Westeros could have its own radio stations some day?" It was an interesting thought, perhaps as the political climate became more free as influence from American 'democracy' could spread across the land.

"I suppose it could, though we'd need to establish who and how such a thing could be established. Would the smallfolk have access to such things? Or would it only be the lords on the top pulling the strings? I myself would prefer the former, but that doesn't seem an option at this point. We should at least contemplate setting up a Citadel station though. Think how many we could reach and teach through such means!" Cressen and Jonathor nodded at this implication.

A bang was heard.

They came over to see one of the robots had collapsed following a demonstration by one of the gold cloaks, who'd been desperate to flaunt his skills to his friend. The Protectron as the locals called it collapsed and attempted to fire its unarmed laser at the friends as they laughed. Yandel wasn't happy.

"What are you doing here? This isn't a matter of entertainment, this is a matter of letting one of our own die! I know you may not concern for him, but the maesters of the Citadel will pay you dearly for his return and the information he offers. Besides, you're lucky it wasn't armed or you'd be ash right now!" The men scowled at his interruption of their humour. They walked off to get another beer in the town, while Yandel hurried over to see what the problem was.

Stram came from the robot's poxterior. He got out a manual a traveller had given him on Protectron mechanics. "Something's wrong with the neutral and earth circuits connecting the neural drive of the machine." He said under his breath as he readied himself to fix this problem. It was more than that though. The malfunction had also melted some of the surrounding plastic to make operating considerably more difficult.

A raven popped towards him. At first, he suspected it as just another local one, but then he saw it had writing scrawled on a note on its foot. The Citadel perhaps?

The writing suggested otherwise. The title suggested it was coming from Casterly Rock itself! The seal was unquestionably of House Lannister, though it was impossible to say which one till he read it. He started to peel open the seal to see what was inside...

"Yandel! There you are! We've come and found a breakthrough! You must come here!" Coleman seemed more eager than usual this time.

"What could it possibly be?"

"A technician who actually knows how to properly construct robots and get them to obey us. His name is Sturges, I heard. You'll need to meet him for it." The name was completely unfamiliar to him, but it sounded like a Wastelander name for certain. Yandel put the letter in his pocket and came to see this new person. The man before him was wearing sunglasses and had a knowin look regarding what the Maesters were doing.

"So it looks like you're trying to build an army of robots, yet without a crafting machine? Surely that's make things a hell of a lot easier for you? I have one a few blocks from here if you need to build some? In exchange, you could tell me some stuff I need to know." The man shone through the bleakness of the surroundings like rays of sun in the radioactive fogs. He also could see even without looking in his eyes that this 'Sturges' had seen things when he wasn't used to seeing. Something wasn't right here.

The device ahead was of a strange shape like a metal kraken or plant. At the base were a group of metal components. Sturges started. "This is how the Sole Survivor constructed robots of his own before the Event. This should help you make better versions of you have the resources and the parts. It can be a mish-mash of whatever you like here. How much resources have you got?" This was a queer question to ask. Yandel had expected he would ask how many robots were working- that is to say, none properly, but it would be more generous and selling to include those that were merely dysfunctional. But this was the resources he requested, not their current state.

"We have enough here to build a dozen protections, a couple of Assaultrons and a brainless version of the robobrain." Yandel couldn't bring himself to use even a raider's brain to fuel such an abomination, that was certain. "One of the others has supposedly found a deceased sentry bot to scrap from though. There is more scrap incoming, as we've asked a loan from the citadel to mine local metals in the area as well. But we only have so long before winter arrives."

"Well, if you're looking for an army to do your fighting for you, surely you should just hire someone? Or get yourself trained to use guns and such? Lawd knows you could use that kind of help out here!" He certainly wasn't wrong.

"This way, you could potentially build a proper army that'll serve you and your 'Citadel' effectively. If your friend is that important you'll raise an army for him, it's at least an admirable sacrifice you're making for him. I wouldn't mind joining you, to be perfectly honest-" Sturges hesitated, and Yandel could see sweat globules on the man's head. "-it's just, well...I'd like to get away from some things, even if only for a time." It was interesting that he wanted to join the expedition for Cressen, but Yandel felt there wasn't something right with this man, despite his apparent knowledge. Tybald was approaching to hear the commotion, with a mug of warm coffee in his hand.

"Ah yes! A new recruit in our campaign! A Wastelander to add! I presume you know how to deal with those savages out there quite well? Would you happen to know where this 'Judge' resides?" He eagerly took a sip of his black coffee and anticipated the next answer.

Sturges took a gulp of air. "The Judge? Oh, boy. That's your target?" His hesitance for the situation certainly wasn't promising. "He's located in East Boston Prepatory School, along with his gang. They go around 'judging' people for recruitment by torturing them. If you survive, you're in. If not, well, best not thinking about it right now. Brutal, even by raider standards. So robots probably are your safest bet here! That or hacking the security systems they're using, though I'm afraid I'm he only one here who could do that well enough." This was to be a tough battle indeed.

A storm was coming indeed, and this assumed Cressen wasn't already in one of the seven heavens! The stranger would recieve many this day whatever way it went. "Shall we pack our things and set up the rest of the bots?" Yandel and his allies nodded, and they spent the rest of the morning crafting robots from the metals and resources they had accumulated, while packing their equipment for the journey ahead.

Installing cameras and similar sensors into the robots was more difficult than the rest, as they had limited amounts to work with. Glass often broken while being shaped, or was too thick to see out of effectively for the cameras. They had sent some samples and the schematics by Ravens to the Citadel to work with the day before, but who knows if the Ravens had been shot down by arrow or sniper at this point? It was hard to say.

All that was known was that Sturges had a mobile computer generator that could track the cameras installed on the bots and use them to deal with the raiders as they came. If there were many units outside, a siege would be necessary, though in all likelihood, the ruins would be more fragile than a castle, and thus storming the building would be a more plausible option.

Once their upcoming army was assembled, the group set on their path. The ruins around them were infested with giant radroaches, hairless dogs, and the monstrous supermutants, so they decided it was best to sneak after their quarry away from the monsters.

The robots naturally surrounded them in a phalanx formation to protect the inhabitants from the raiders and predators of the Wasteland, for it would not be good to die before they even had a small chance of saving Cressen and his research.

They now moved through Boston's ruins towards the location of this school. "Schools were once used to educate kids and such before the Great War. Teach 'em about all the basic things of life before they moved into the working world. It wasn't at all perfect, but it at least gave them a chance. Once the war happened, well, that was no longer an option." He sighed. "It'd be great if te surface would have access to such systems again. Vault 81 has the only functioning school I know of currently."

"What made it so that this 'Judge' took over the ruins of the school?" Tybald asked as he ordered the red Protectron he'd nicknamed 'Rusty' to collect some more scrap.

"Judge Zeller's past is pretty shady, but it seems he went through some majorly nasty-" he stubbed his toe on the rusty skeleton of a car. "Damn it. Sorry, where was I? Yeah, Zeller had some tough past going on, though he was never a nice guy- a sadist in fact, like you wouldn't believe. Thought interrogating and judging was the best way to get about in life. You familiar with anyone who could have that outlook on life? Or have so many followers?" To Sturges' surprise, the Maesters were not as shocked as he had anticipated. It was true. Westeros was used to monstrous people's like Gregor Clegane and his 'Mountain's Men', Amory Loch and the Brave Companions. These raiders just had superior technology and no leash to pull them back.

Sturges explained further. "Well, OK. The guys at Bunker Hill had a deal with these guys, believe it or not. They're just simple traders and they wanted to be left alone, after all. Even noble people can become corrupted by the need to stay alive. Or simple wealth of course. But of corse, Zeller inevitably wanted more. You know what they say, war never changes. And clearly, neither do people." To be true, Yandel had never heard such an expression. It certainly seemed true given all he had seen of conflict.

"I'd argue with that." Jonathor started again. "From what I've seen of the Wasteland, much has changed. No longer do you have swords, arrows and Knights, but guns, grenades and lasers. Instead of giant armies, these are more like petty squabbles from what I can tell. Quite clean too, if you ask me." Sturges seemed puzzled. He didn't say a word, but it was clear he meant 'and how is that exactly?'

"There's not as much looting here if you discount the raiders and gunners. The civilised areas are quite benign in their treatment of civilians from what I see." He picked a mite out of his beard and tossed it aside. "Better than so-called Knights raping and killing the people and sacking the land. I fear this will make restoring order much more difficult in the long run, as that is how the Westerosi armies have performed for millennia. That kind of way doesn't change overnight."

"Nor does it in our world." Sturges continued as they passed an abandoned gas station. "As I said, war never changes. The innocent are always put in danger, and pay the price for things that were never theirs to pay. I don't see that changing, even with all that is happening." Soon, they saw signs of disturbance from the station. Something crawled out from underneath a truck. Ghouls! !

"Get down!" Sturges went as he shot at them with a 9mm, usually missing or only lodging in a shoulder or knee, but occasionally reaching an instantly lethal headshot. Not much else seemed to slow them down!

For even tearing off limbs with weapons wouldn't always off the beasts. The robots activated their weapons systems, offing them one by one. And yet their sentry bot was not changing its demeanour. Jonathor decapitated one with his short-sword. The monsters were relentless and resembled the wights of the old tales. Magic couldn't really be the cause of such creatures though, for these were not mythical creatures like the Others, but victims of intense radiation instead. But Yandel had some feeling, no, premonition that magic was somehow involved in this situation. He just didn't know how yet.

Yandel was was knocked to his feet by one ghoul, as it proceeded to tear at him with its claws, once nails. It's dress and demeanour showed that it was once a woman, perhaps a pretty one before. Finally, the sentry bot activated and shredded the she-ghoul before it could tear off his face. _Praise the Seven_ , he thought as he got up and the last of the ghouls were finished off. After some small looting, they could continue again on their journey.

On the opposite bank of the small bit of sea, he could see the 'airport' that was a Brotherhood of Steel base, their main operations even. He could even see small swarms of Vertibirds moving out and to it, though none noticed them down on the ground. Sturges started. "Looks like we're not far now. We just have to go up north and then west, and we should- aaah!" He suddenly clutched his forehead and his glasses fell. His eyes were now fluctuating in unusual ways. They could be some type of 'epileptic fit' that Yandel had read in the medical journals, but these didn't involve a man's eyes turning completely white or black. Perhaps this man wasn't who he said he was? Perhaps he was no man at all?

"Coleman, get out your gun. Something seems amiss!" He started as Sturges fell on his knees. He did exactly that and began to approach the man. He was breathing heavily, and a nearby crow also started to behave strangely. This occurred for the briefest moment, for as soon as it had came, it was over. He got back up slowly as if recovering from a lost breath. "I'm so sorry, guys. I have no idea what that was. Let's just go before something else happens!" And that they did.

The 'school' was now dramatically overgrown by native plant life. It was rusted, the glass windows were shattered in many places, and even the building bricks that made it up were shaded and crumbled in places. More importantly, some of the outside railings were being patrolled. They put their heads down to avoid being spotted. They also sent back the robots in order to have an element of surprise, through some of Tybald's programming. Sturges got out a sniper rifle and put on a silencer, preparing to make arrangements. He went in and offed two raiders around the top, with one falling down. He started to make his way to the entrance before they saw something in the window.

It was Cressen! But he had a gun to his head and a raider to his side. "Uh-uh-uh! You don't want to do this, you know. We could see you comin' up here too, so I'd have you guys come and join your friend here, or else he gets a bullet in his brain. As will you! Now, drop your weapons!" They did exactly that. Sturges was fuming, as could be told from his face, but he ultimately complied. They were escorted by some lesser raiders on their way up past the ruined stairs, while the raiders around mocked and laughed the Maesters. Coleman appeared to have pissed himself, and he got knocked to his knees by the one holding him. "Pathetic old man!" He sneered. "You're not much for a recruit, but you'd make great chow!" He licked the man's face, with Yandel feeling sick at the thought of the implication. He wretched.

A beat to the back of his head was felt as the raiders jaiped more, while pulling him up forcefully to his feet. They were now moving towards the uppermost flight of stairs. It wasn't long now. What have we done, he thought. Why didn't we just storm the place from afar and massacre them all?

At the top of the stairs, they walked past raiders who started throwing obscene things at them as they stared and jested. The things they shouted were no less obscene. Sturges remained silent and rolled his eyes. He had handcuffs to keep him in place, whereas the others like himself didn't. Perhaps this was because they knew Sturges was a threat? Now they were in the main room, about to be thrown in different cages. Yandel found himself next to Cressen- the very man they had come to rescue!

"Brother! At last, we meet again!" The two embraced. Yandel could feel the degeneration of Cressen's fabrics and his unwashed smell. Even so, it was good to see him. "And the notes? You've preserved them?"

"Of course, friend. Most at least. One wiped their arse with my pages on that mysterious plant I found on the banks of the river before my capture, but still, I'm in a decent position to obtain my information on flora, fauna and technological adaptations. But there's much to learn even now!"

"Quiet!" A female raider bashed the cages, producing a painful clang. "The Judge is here to see your asses and see if you're of any use." And there he came. The man had a savage look to him, with a face dyed by the blood of his victims, and a beard that could rival Vargo Hoat in its extremity. His armour was rusty and tough, with fiver-glass protecting his face from bullets. He stood a head over the other raiders, and must have been well over six feet tall. He had a twisted metal device in his hand.

"Well, well, well. Some of my captives friends decided to come back and liberate him, eh? You must all be some of those new outsiders coming into our land to poke your noses. You won't be worth shit as recruits I'm afraid, but we can just torture you for information about this Westeros around us. Then, death will be a sweet release for you. Cressen here's been scrubbing floors, writing computer notes and... Ha. Granting other raiders' favours of course. You should ask him sometime. Before that, I'm going to give you something you'll remember for the rest of your short, worthless lives!" He clutched his device and started heading for Yandel himself. It looked like some kind of brand. Yandel had never been so afraid in his life. A sheltered life in the Citadel was paradise compared to what lay ahead of him.

"Leave them alone!" Sturges spoke up. "They're here to find information about you and maybe buy their friend out. Bunker Hill sent me to off you sons of bitches, so if you're angry at anyone, it better be me!" This was a very dangerous move, for sure.

"You! Ive heard about you before. You were in the Minutemen back on the day. That still true? Also heard you're not all you seem. I hope that's also true. Perhaps I'll cut you open and see for myself?" What could he mean? The whole situation with the stroke, the confronted speech, the eyelids moving like the wargs of legend.

Sturges was a magic user! A foreign one now, but one nevertheless! The cancers of magic had brought such ruin on the world of old, to Valyria, to its successors, and now the Wasteland too. It was everything the Citadel opposed, and it could not be allowed to grow. After all this was done, Sturges had to die!

"You can go f-" a baton smacked Sturges before he could finish his derogatory insult. Somehow, Yandel wished he had heard the rest of this.

"Now, now. Let's not get overexcited here. I think-" he paused. A gush ran in the room. An unnatural one at that. The raiders started pointing their guns around.

Sturges was the first to notice what was ahead of him. "What is that?" He pointed, and began to digit in his pocket. A shadow of a man was present. But it was not one of any man or woman present in the room. It seemed to be evaporating like some vapour, and it reminded Yandel of the stories he had heard from the distant land of Asshai. It rose in the form of a raider, one with a sword that burned like Blackfyre. The Judge dropped his tool in shock. The shadow raised its hand and the blade went straight through the Judge's toughest armour, going from the temple of his head to just below te collarbone, perhaps even to the heart itself. Blood splattered out from every angle, and the flesh seemed to burn. The dark blade was withdrawn from the Judge's lifeless body, the shadow turned and in one fell strike beheaded all three nearby raiders who had guarded him. Then, as soon as it had arrived, it disappeared, as if evaporating like steam. The raiders were simply shocked. Perhaps there was a chance?

Sturges spoke to something from his wrist. "Alright." He shouted. "Call in the cavalry!"

Suddenly, the raiders near the windows were riddled with bullets and lasers. Yandel could hear a grenade in another room tear through the wooden walls, causing lots of dust and sawdust to be thrown up. The surviving raiders were in stupor, unaware of Sturges' command. They didn't notice the robots at all!

"What the fuck have you assholes done?" The female jailer called out. She opened the cage Yandel and Cressem were held. "You better start talking, or...or... I'm going to do nasty things to you!"

An assaultron climbed the wall with its sword hands, it's head now glowing. The raider turned to face her doom. The laser fired through her head, atomising it entirely and going through the walls towards her friends, who were dying in droves as more robots were storming the building. Yandel picked up the key. Now freedom was upon them! He let the other Maesters out as well as the prisoners that the raiders had kept for their own purposes, which were no doubt nefarious.

He suddenly hesitated when it came to Sturges' cage. This man was a known magic user. How else could exert such precise control over the robot horde through a means the others didn't know? He must have been a warg or something along those lines. Perhaps he had even sent the shadow assassin to free himself and those he deemed allies? He could be plotting to betray him at any second.

"Well, we're free now. Your initial plan worked. Let's all get out of here! Before more return. Nobody would believe us!" He was right. He seemed unaware of the shadow's presence like the others, and he had helped them build a robot army that ultimately freed them on his command. He should have been grateful for this. Magic user or not, he had saved all their lives.

"You're right." Yandel finally relented and unlocked Sturges' cage. He saw in the corner a pile of bones, reminding him of what could have been his own fate. What lives had these innocents had before the raiders had starved or tortured them to death? It would never be known.

"Thanks-" Sturges said with a look of relief. "I thought you were gonna leave me behind for a second. Ha!" He got up and brushed himself.

"No, thank you!" Cressen started. If it weren't for you, those raiders would have tortured us to death and made sausages out of our bodies!" He was jumping with glee despite the carnage around him and his age. "Glad that transmitter worked, eh?"

"You bet. Had this malfunctioned, we'd be in trouble. And the shadow? Was that some kind of magic or something? That was crazy! The shadow looked like a raider boss. Perhaps some raider got ahold of magic and started offing his rivals?" It certainly was a plausible proposition.

"Shadow binding is a common custom in the far off land of Asshai, where magic is, unfortunately, still very strong." Coleman knew his subject well. "Terrifying aspects, possivly related to the foreign God Rh'lorr, such things are unpresidented even in Westeros and the near East, so for a raider to acquire such things is grave news. Who knows what delusions of grandeur and madness have overcome such an individual now, and where will that ambition lead?" They started on their way out of the building. Some shooting could still be heard, so they tread carefully.

Once they got to the end of the final floor's staircase, the last of the shootings ceased, and the remaining robots went down or through the hallways. Several were damaged to some extent or another, with only the sentry not being relatively unharmed. All but Rusty were destroyed among the Protectrons, though this was understandable. He let out a 'protect and serve', while carrying the severed hand of some raider in his own.

They stepped outside and took some fresh air. The other captives thanked and praised them and went on their way to the nearest settlements. "At least those medieval savages aren't there anymore." Yandel also heard a "you'd never believe what happened to the Slog! Some Knights took everyone there down south for 'questioning' and noone's come back. Something ain't right there!" For their solid victory, for some reason Yandel did not feel all that satisfied.

"Well, glad that's over. Nice to meet you guys, despite all that tension. I hope you find all the info you're after in this wasteland. I'd love to give you more electronic knowledge myself, but there's things I need to do and places I need to be up north. Winter is coming. See you around." And there he was on his way. Not even a hug or a handshake, merely a journey up north.

"Where's he going?" Coleman asked. In the corner of his eye, he saw Cressen sit down and break down in tears over the things he had saw in the Judge's quarters. "I certainly have sensed something odd about him, even if he did save us." This also was true.

"I know you are grateful for his compassion, as am I, plus his knowledge. But he stands for something we cannot tolerate, and that poses a threat to all security on the continent, perhaps even the world. He can only live for so long."

Coleman raised an eyebrow. "What would that be?"

Yandel exclaimed. "By the gods, he's a warlock!" The others were shocked at the accusation.

"Are you sure? You haven't lost your mind in there?" Cressen asked, having recovered somewhat.

"I'm sure if it. He used a method we do not know to indicate those robots to our position. He had no remote. It was if he was controlling them with his mind!"  
Coleman now understood. "The Citadel would have to know immediately about all this. We have no time to waste!"


	28. Jon (II)

Jon Snow had known fighting for a long time. He had fought with Robb in Winterfell, and had taken arms against the crown prince Joffrey when King Robert visited Winterfell. But these were merely play fights, certainly nothing like the real thing. He had thought about how he would be in a real fight, when he would join the Night's Watch with Uncle in his wildest dreams, though, had he been expecting to fight an opponent with futuristic weapons who had come from another world.

The raider in front of him was ferocious and terrifying, even by the standards of the rest of his kind, with scars covering his face and body and a 'mohican' haircut that looked so alien compared to anything Westerosi. The weapon he held resembled a heavily serrated knife or small sword, but it constantly rotated to cut through even tough material, with sparks flying like a forge, and his armour was black, metallic and with skulls on it. Jon knew letting such an opponent live would allow them to terrorise the smallfolk and settlers alike. As if the Smiling Knight from the tales of old had returned in the flesh. That would not be allowed.

He took out his sword and began to move. Preston had taught him how to use a pistol and a laser musket, but he still felt comfortable with the sword more than all else. The Westerosi in him was true to his instincts. He charged at the raider and their weapons clashed. Sparks flew like the forge of a giant.

Jon fought with all his strength, but the raider was a larger man, and more toned. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in ferocity, swinging chaotically with his weapon, which he seemed to be turning on with something, and so he found himself being overpowered by the savage in a duel. Jon's arms ached and he could feel his legs dragging in the mud as the opponent came closer to burning his neck with the terrifying saw.

"End of the line, Minutemen trash!" the raider cackled before Jon saw his chance. He instinctively, without thinking, shoved his hot blade into the exposed bit of neck between the man's armour. _Stick 'em with the pointy end,_ he heard his own voice say, just as he had once taught Arya to use that weapon, Needle. He screamed and dropped his saw. What was once his weapon was now his own undoing. Jon took the opportunity to knock the savage back and got out his pistol, a nine-millimetre lent to him by Clandon back at the Winterfell outpost. With a quick draw of the gun, he pointed it into the man's chin and pulled the trigger. A shot to the head, through the jaw and out of the roof was what finished off the monster of a man. Blood spread into his face and the surrounding grasses and soil. The savage had a look of shock on his face, and collapsed, dropping his strange weapon. This was Jon's first raider kill. The man's savage eyes were now lifeless, and no longer a threat. Jon knew he should be celebrating inside at the killing of another piece of scum like this, but he couldn't somehow.

He looked to see his comrades. Another raider was being riddled with bullets, while her compatriots fled. He saw Preston coming over to him, dodging a stray laser beam and turning round to launch his own against the beast.

"Well done, Jon. How was your first battle? Clearing out those bastards-" he paused, as if only suddenly realising the implications of being baseborn in Westeros. "-Sorry, asshats. I know it can be hard making your first kill. But these people need our protection. Your people don't deserve savages tearing at their lands, and we know it. Know what I'm saying?"

"Of course, sir. I just...don't know this is what I wanted. The Nights Watch sounds like it would have been a hard path, but what it involved is protecting the realm from threats and foreign savages, not just going around and killing your world's raiders as leftovers. It's simpler, more honourable, and less draining."

"Why would you say that? Just because those people come from somewhere different doesn't make them evil, nor does being from another world exempt someone from morality. What makes someone evil is how they act, like with the raiders. They are just as, if not more savage than anything north of the Wall, and with far better technology. Nothing in those frozen wastes could be worse than these. And it's not just them either. Anything threatening or even inconveniencing those in need, settler or smallfolk, needs to be dealt with. You may be an outcast from the nobility, but you still came from nobility." He certainly had a point there.

"Most of us were never that fortunate. We won't judge your heritage or position here, nor will you need to be celibate like the Watch, so you can still make a living for yourself. Get a wife and some kids, that kind of thing. It's hard, of course. But there's nothing I love more than helping people, and I hope you find the same here." He patted Jon on the shoulder and they started moving eastward. What could he possibly want with baby goats when vicious raiders were terrorising the neighbourhood?

"Well, where the state of the Castle in the Commonwealth? Everything under control there?" The Bastard of Winterfell had only heard of the Commonwealth's Castle- apparently the only one of its kind. No other structures of similar appearance existed in the Commonwealth, though he had seen little of it so far. Perhaps this would change in future.

"As far as we know, Jon, were in a pretty solid position there. That said, we haven't heard in weeks, so you never know. Radio signals only carry so far after all. A journey back there to investigate new threats is certain though. Enemies are always there, and raiders and creatures are not the biggest threat at all." Jon seemed puzzled by all this. Who was he suggesting was such a big threat there? Supermutants were certainly a savage group, and a single one could likely outmatch the 'Mountain that rides' in melee combat, never mind hundreds of them. He was yet to face those monsters as of yet. Or the inhuman deathclaws, or 'demons' as many of his fellow Westerosi came to monicker them as. Both groups were highly unorganised though, and the latter were just animals. What could be worse living there?

The journey south towards the Commonwealth would be an interesting one. Many northern traders and those manning Moat Cailin avoided the new lands with a passion, and steered clear of the beasts spilling outward. But there must have been opportunities here too. A ruined city was a great waste, he thought. Especially one that was once far greater than White Harbor, Oldtown or even King's Landing ever was. Colonisation would take decades, and that would be after clearing out the savages and salvaging the lost technologies there. And Winter was coming. Not a time to rebuild cities when the North could not feed or protect its own people.

Jon could see the transition from the forests of the North to the more barren Commonwealth easily, even from a distance. It was true plants were starting to spread into the leafless territories of the northern Wasteland, particularly grasses and shrubs, but it was still much quieter than home. At least for the most part. Traders with a Brahmin could be seen grazing fields for their pet, while a guard with a shotgun kept lookout. Jon wouldn't have minded doing some trade, but he had almost none of the native bottlecaps currency, and he still was suspicious of many here. The greenery was reducing the more they went south into the new lands. A strange sight in the middle of the decay was a blue rose, standing tall in spite of all the arid ground and rusted metal surrounding it.

The wind was a normal breeze, but with a strange and unfamiliar element to it as well. It was usually what he was used to, and a nice relief before the winds of winter would settle in. But another thing was coming, he could sense it. Ghost sniffed the air and licked his lips, howling at some imaginary force ahead. As Jon crossed the border, this sense quickly disappeared into familiarity somehow. As if the radiation present was more familiar.

"Yep, we're back in the Commonwealth alright. Geiger counters tickin'!" Maurice said as he looked up from his Geiger counter. He wasn't much older than Theon, probably about twenty-three, relatively young by the standards of the Commonwealth citizens, though if he was a Lord, he would likely be married with multiple heirs already. His orange beard bristled in the wind as they eyed up some strange metal monument in the ground.

"Crap, that's where the Sole Survivor came from!"- he could hear another minuteman speak. Jon knew that whoever said this meant Nathan based on his title. It didn't look like much. There were no houses or big buildings here- just a metal circle and a shack near it. He spoke. "What is there around here that's so special? How did the General come from here exactly? To me, it just seems a metal circle in the ground." Preston chuckled. Jon turned to see what he meant. "What's funny?"

"Don't take it personally, I know Westerosi won't be familiar with this kind of territory. It's a vault. Vault 111 to be exact." He turned to the others. "Any of you know about what vaults are? Care to explain?" Many of those present were Wastelanders, but a few like himself were of Northern stock. Preston had once said all of Westeros and perhaps beyond would have Minutemen divisions providing for the people and granting them security, but that seemed so far away. A woman wearing a white shirt, green jacket and black trousers spoke out.

"They were used before the Great War to house civilians from the atomic fire. The government opened up one-hundred and twenty-two official vaults and an unknown number of unofficial ones to allow survivors to endure hardships. What the population didn't know is that the government was monitoring them and experimenting on them like some huge game for 'science' and for their own pleasure. Vault 111 in particular was used for studying cryogenics and their long term effects on people in suspended animation. Nathan was the only one to come out alive. Him and his son Shaun." This only confused Jon more.

"How can governments be that cruel and twisted to their own lands? My father served his people justice and unity, keeps them safe in the harsh conditions, and yet your old one betrayed its own people. And what are these 'cryogenics'"- he said the word slowly and with caution of embarassment "-and how deadly can they be?" Cryo- vaguely reminded him of something relating to Valyrian, but it certainly wasn't any dialect he knew of. Here, he knew nothing.

"Hard to say really." An older minuteman named Eric started. "It was an attempt to allow people to be frozen for long periods of time, centuries even to study the physical and mental effects it had on those. The people involved were unaware of the experiment according to the General, but they were frozen for many years. It was compromised by the mercenary Kellogg, working for the Institute, and so Nathan was the only survivor. Word has it there's information there that may be of use somehow." It sounded to him like the nightmarish tales Old Nan had told him once. Of the Ice dragon that could freeze a man solid with just its breath, and of the Others. If technology could replicate the nightmarish substances of old tales, it seemed like a dangerous risk to take. If something went wrong with this, the danger would be staggering. The people didn't need more winters.

"Who wants to have a look down there? Perhaps a base could be established or something? It may not be a settlement, but once we clear out radroaches and such, it should be easy to occupy." Another minuteman voice noted.

Preston shook his head. "It would be disrespectful for those who lost their lives there, and for our general. That said, we could see if it's possible to salvage any cryo-tech around there, and then we can go to Sanctuary, which is where the General set up one of the greatest settlements around. You Westerosi may qualify it as a highly fortified village if you will. Jon, you can join them in looking for the cryo-tech." Jon reluctantly nodded to this news. He and his comrades went to the structure, Preston pressed something on a pad and they started to descend.

Jon was terrified of was happening, but he kept it quiet. The ground itself was moving around him, how could he be calm inside? Nevertheless, it was moving quite slowly towards where it was supposed to go, and when daylight was shut out by metal doors above, electronic lights came to replace it. It felt isolating like no natural cave could. For caves didn't move like this!

The minuteman known as Eric noted "this is an interesting design here. Most come out the side, but this goes straight down. It's unsettling for me, can't imagine how it must be for you Westerosi!" Jon could hear mumbling from some smallfolk who had joined recently, possibly a prayer to the Old Gods. No Weirwoods grew in these lands though. The movement began to slow down and the noise of the grinding metal started to slow too, only to be replaced by some siren of a most unnatural tone. He and his comrades were now at the bottom of this giant lift, towards the gates.

Eric was the first to step out to investigate the surroundings, showing Jon gigantic beetles crawling around after debri on the floor. "See, radroaches. Not a lovelier sight in the Commonwealth!" He sarcastically remarked with a minor chuckle at the end. Jon readied his rifle in case something worse popped out. Big orange lights and a siren were still flashing months after the General, Nathan as he had come to know him, had escaped this place. There had to be somewhere to turn this insufferable noise off! Jon pushed the gate open to move into the walkway towards where the entrance had once been. The five others with him followed down this path to see thr strange plastic surfaces. The Wastelanders were familiar if intrigued, while his fellow Northerners were anxious. On one hand, he felt it was wrong to be afraid, but on the other, his father had once said they that is the only time a man can be brave. He certainly held on to that belief.

"That terminal should end it." Eric went over to the metal device that was a terminal and started typing. Jon had no idea what to do with that, but he saw something that caught his eye. A case with something in it. He headed over to investigate.

Some lock device existed surrounding this weapon, that resembled a gun or a laser pistol, but had a...different feel to it. Instead of being red or green, it flowed with a blue presence, and the inside held a mist that surpassed even the coldest winters of the North. It was if the weapon and its contents were cold incarnate! No natural organism would be able to resist such power, and so it could potentially be a great weapon if out to use in the right way. The cabinet was far too thick though. He wasn't sure how he could possibly get into this without serious skill in lock picking.

"What do you know could penetrate this kind of surface?" Jon asked those near him. Doesn't look like bullets can get through glass this thick. Assuming it is glass." The others who heard nodded.

"Could be two inches of diamond for all we know. Now that would be hard to penetrate." Jon liked Eric from what he'd seen, even if he cracked jokes at the wrong moments sometimes. He just needed to find a way through this. He had an idea.

"Ghost! Ghost! Yes, you! Come here, boy!" The white Direwolf made its way over to his master and looked with curiosity at the strange lock ahead. He sniffed the lock and looked Jon straight in the eyes, his own red like the brightest rubies. Jon couldn't explain what happened next very well, but Ghost seemed to sniff around the area, shift some tile under the box, resulting in a small button being present. He pressed his nose against this and the lock opened up. Ghost then went over and retrieved the weapon and its ammo, to Jon's amazement. He grinned and patted his pet on the head. "Good boy!" He said. The others came to see the fuss.

"How on earth did a giant dog manage to open an extremely tight lock like that?" A former smallfolk named Wyl asked. "Clever boy!" Ghost sat down and licked his lips. Neither of them knew what this thing Ghost had unlocked was. It was large and heavy, but was clearly some type of gun. Eric headed over.

"Shit! You unlocked the cryolator! Like a reverse flame thrower, according to the archives." He looked through more. "Was built using the same things they used to freeze the General and his family. Only in a weaponised form that should in theory be able to freeze opponents solid, or at the very least slow them down till they're vulnerable. Can pack quite a punch supposedly. There are ways to upgrade it too. I suggest we find them somewhere." A weapon that could freeze a man solid did seem like the ice dragons of Old Nan's tales, and this weapon before him was like a hand-held version of one that he could fire at will. It seemed impossible to believe, and yet here it was. He put it on his back with the other things and continued deeper in.

While Ghost went off chasing radroaches out of the corridors, Jon caught up with the others to a surreal sight. Empty chambers full of frozen and long dead people. Two chambers at the end were open. Jon saw Eric with his hat off. "What is it, sir?" He asked the veteran. His normal wise cracking smile was absent, in favour of a face reminding him of father.

"The General's wife still lies here, you know. No one knows what happened to Shaun, their son. It seems to have been like ten years or something since Shaun was kidnapped, though it could be more. Nathan was never sure how long it was ago." Jon took his hat off as a sign of respect as well. She was frozen over and lifeless, and yet it was like she had died recently as she was in such a position of preservation. She was certainly a beautiful woman in life, and certainly must have provided Nathan with a blissful marriage before the Great War. Jon couldn't accurately speculate what that life must have held. The look in her eyes still seemed to be from when she died trying to save her baby from the mysterious man known as Kellogg, whom Nathan had already disposed of before the Event. It reminded him of how Lady Catelyn would be so fiercely protective of her children when Jon wanted to play with them. If only he knew his own.

"I've had enough looking at her myself, I think we should head up"- Eric noted. He walked up the corridor and out his hat back on. Jon followed him, noticing the corpses of those left inside their pods without a chance to escape. They must have died alone and terrified, and utterly powerless. Worse than any winters, he thought.

The journey back to the surface was brief and uneventful, but the return was anything but. For when they were back, they found they were no longer alone. Jon ducked and avoided a red beam of energy. An army of robots had found them!

He turned to face a group of fairly large, well armoured and chaotically spread robots of strange forms that were terrorising groups of people according to the reports, and here he was with them! If only Nathan- or the General, was here to deal with them, but he was not. It was Jon's time to hunt now.

The tire tracks of the "Robobrain" approaching resembled some of those long gone car ruins he had heard about scattered throughout the Wasteland. _If only we could use them now,_ he thought. What shocked him most though was the use of what seemed to be a human brain! Gods, that was strange.

Maester Luwin had taught him back in the day that the brain was the most important part of the human body, from which our knowledge, our memories, our functions and even our souls were located, and here was a machine with one in. It spoke with a mockery of human thought like some Sothyrosi parrot, but it was hard to distinguish given how distorted it was. A laser sept it's way into Jon's knee. He cried out in pain as he saw the burned hole in his leg. Fortunately, the burn prevented any bleeding from taking place. He screamed and drew his sword. He plunged it past the armoured arms of the robot into its brain case, eliminating its central processor. The bot flailed its arms around for a time before ceasing. Jon prepared to help his comrades against the others.

He stabbed a thin robot in the back, slipping through the plating and deactivating it before going over to Eric, who fought a monstrously large robot that was tearing through Minutemen ranks like flies in the flames. Most of his projectiles bounced off the machine like paper and water, and so the Minutemen danced around it as it was too slow to effectively turn to counter. It began to cool down and opened a chamber that was red hot. Something there was exposed. Sticking it with the pointy end was not an option here, but making the hot thing even hotter certainly was. Jon fired the laser at the joints. They heated up even further and electric sparks flew out as the robot started to deteriorate. He had to tell the others!

"It's charging! Shoot the back!" They circled round and fired. It continued to deteriorate in quality and barked out commands to its fellow robots. The compartment closed and the robot continued its assault, blasting its machine guns while Minutemen jumped out of the way. It seemed like they would all fall to this metal monstrosity.

An explosion knocked the giant back, along with destroying the flying bot. A larger group of Minutemen aimed with large and powerful weapons had come. Reinforcements from Sanctuary! The robot was now occupied with them until it reached a point of exhaustion. It couldn't keep it up. It's tanks owned up again. This time, Jon had a new idea.

He got out the cryolator, the weapon of cold. It seemed counterintuitive to get out a cold weapon to deal with heat, but the Maesters said that a rapidly cooled metal would be far more brittle and useless than one gradually cooled. Perhaps of the robots cores were in such a fate, they would be useless without an explosion?

He fired and tried for victory. The machine components quickly cooled and slowed, and the metal of the engines became brittle and hollow as a stream of white cold enveloped it.

The outer metal weathered well but the inner substance became fragile and brittle. Every attempt for the machine to turn caused cracks and shattering of components, the little red cores inside fell out and eventually, the machine went silent. Jon had defeated it!

The newcomers came to congratulate him for this great victory, for it was clearly that in the face of such odds. "You managed to kill a sentry-bot without it blowing up! And you have a cryolator! How'd you manage, wolf-pup?" Jon felt a blush of embarrassment from all the attention he was suddenly getting, not sure what to think. The Minutemen now led him up the hills across and around the bridge to see the settlement of Sanctuary. Preston waited for him with approval. He took Jon by the back and showed him the grand settlement.

"It's not The Castle or your home of Winterfell, but it's the second best of our settlements, and most of it was done by the General." Jon saw thirty foot metal towers with enormous guns at the top and people arming them. Barbed wire surrounded them too, while in between was a moat that reminded him somewhat of the fortifications around Riverrun, Lady Catelyn's ancestral home.

Inside, farms were being cultivated while glass lay around them, protecting them from something. Artificial lights were all standing around the roads, as were generators, panels, windmills and some device in the waters. He supposed it was to clean dirty water based on the reports. Dozens of civilians and nearly as many Minutemen soldiers were present here, ready to defend at any cost. It was like Winterfell in many ways, yet far more advanced as well. No one was wasted in such a fortification, the efficiency and collective interest was incredible to see.

A bountiful harvest of vegetables and foods, both of the Wasteland and of the North had been gathered. His journey to the Commonwealth had finished and now he could rest. His journey _through_ the Commonwealth would be something else altogether.


	29. Curie (II)

Curie's awakening from her slumber was slower and more gradual than usual. Her systems diagnostics started on a basic level of monitoring her surroundings that weren't available or relevant to her human cohabitants in this northern settlement. For now her optic and auditory sensors were functioning healthily, and so she saw the sleeping Minutemen around her. From her sensory functions, her cognitive arose next. Now she remembered where she was and why she was here. She was establishing contact with the free folk or 'wildlings' as they were known in the Seven Kingdoms. The Minutemen had a duty to the land and the people, she understood. But she was no minuteman herself. So why was she here truly?

"Oh look who's awake!" The commander got up. "These wildlings have some interesting accommodation standards here." He stretched his arms. "I presume the General's got some data uploaded from your drives by now?"

"Actually no, the conditions here make signal very difficult at best. My sensors indicate signals can only travel at best twelve point four kilometres or seven point nine miles from where we are. Any further would require more power, and there isn't too much the locals have in building capabilities so far. If we were to alter our wood inputs by 347%, we could-"

"I don't think we'll need too much of that at this rate. The furs are useful, but you may need insulation too to make sure your circuitry isn't damaged. Some waterproof modifications seem a good idea." Curie thought that her responses had been slower lately. Nowhere in the Commonwealth was it nearly this cold after all. She whirred towards him.

"I think that would be a splendid idea, Commander..." she had difficulty remembering his name. "Ray?"

"Close. It's Raymond. We got a busy schedule ahead of us today, so you may wanna ask the free folk what's happening round here. Fjorn wanted to speak to you about something too, or at least that's what I heard. Jenny's scouting out in the forests, and I have no idea where that man went off too." It was clear he spoke of Deacon. "I suppose its best to rendezvous with Fjorn at this point." She gave an attempt at a salute and hovered out of the tent.

The cold tundra air did not affect her circuits today, and she could see her presence was warming to the children around her. She felt a sense of contentment on being able to bring happiness to those around her, something she had rarely felt in Vault 81. Even Sanctuary and the Settlements were never so welcoming as with this community of free folk. The big tent was held up with what looked like the tusks of mammoths, with their hides functioning as walls of sorts, reinforced by chopped down wood. Not the most powerful walls by a long shot, but stainless steel was hardly a common sight in the uncivilised wastes.

The tent had a gathering around it. Fjorn was in the middle, with Vork, Halla and Marek to the right and Harren, Olmadill, the fisher known as Una and Deacon to the left. Deacon despite his discreetness to other wastelanders stood out like a sore thumb among the wildlings in the tent. Between them, children figited around with each other, giggling before being silent at Marek's hand wave. Fjorn looked up and started to speak.

"As you know, the Minutemen have only been here six days and yet they have helped us greatly in food and medicine, and we cannot thank them enough. It has been a pleasure having you here, I cannot deny." He sighed. "That said, difficult times lie ahead. Winter is coming- a harsh one at that, Mance Rayder is preparing to march on the Wall and free our people, the other tribes have not all included in this and rebel, and it seems the Minutemen aren't the only things from the new lands that have ventured this far north. More have arrived." This was news for Curie, as she had not detected anything at all about Wastelanders of any form in the Land Beyond the Wall. Deacon clearly thought the same.

"Who or what could it be, chief? None of us have heard any Intel. Unless the Minutemen have kept it from me." Harren stepped up with approval from Fjorn.

"I and my scouts saw crab like creatures fishing around the rivers, moving slowly, but very hard to penetrate." It was obvious he spoke of mirelurks here, who cannot have been doing well in the cold conditions. "I have also seen men in white coats around the Frozen Shore. Not fur coats either. They were with- metal beings, but not like Curie- more human-like. We dared not attack. One scout even claims to have seen a boat full of green men heading up the rivers towards the mountains. These are dark times indeed." He sat down.

Ray came into the tent and noted. "Damn it." He drank some liquor out of his pocket. "I guess it was only a matter of time before some Wastelanders other than us figured out what was going on. We better hurry and investigate before things get worse. If the locals are right and mammoths and pony-sized wolves live here, who knows what mutants or one of the other factions of the Wasteland may do with them. Can you imagine what FEV would do to dire wolves and shit like that?" Curie considered his point paramount- the riches of the far north could be used to launch an invasion from beyond the Wall. If the supermutants were to somehow use FEV on the creatures of the Far North, all they would need to do is flood the Wall with all sorts of abominations. A terrifying tactic. "Let's assemble a team for it."

"Wouldn't that take a lot time to create, sir?" Deacon pointed out, in disguise once again. "We hardly managed to convince HQ to send fifty of us up here, how many would it take to destroy a synth army or something like that? Plus resources and all that jazz. The further north we go, the harder it gets."

"Private," Raymond started- "they appear to have arrived after us and therefore it's very unlikely they will have gotten any further north than we have. If anything, explorations of the southern coast are necessary. If Fjorn has any suggestions on dealing with savages, then I'd be open to getting rid of them as well. God knows these guys need it."

Vork stood up and spoke. "How would you tell us Free Folk to deal with men made out of metal and green giants? The giants we've seen are bad enough, we don't need more! And if they got your weapons, we wouldn't have anything to protect ourselves if and when they come for us! We need to know how to build things like yours" He came up to Ray, who clearly was not prepared for physical confrontation in this setting.

Ray took his gun out of its holster. "No need to get like that. We will in time, but it would take years for it to set in, and there is so much to learn in between, like-"

"We don't have years to go, Minuteman. We're migrating south, whether the southerners like it or not. If you can't take that, you can shove your guns and fancy words up your-"

"Enough!" Fjorn got up with spear-men at his side. "Squabbling over what to do will get us nowhere. It's true, trying to go from spears and furs to guns and plastic overnight is not going to be possible. But we do need to hurry. Mance himself has written to me that the journey south has to be done quickly, though he has refused to elaborate why. I don't know if it's a nasty tribe of savages, or a really bad winter or...something else, but if it threatens my people, it is my duty to join my fellow free folk. I cannot let disagreements and attacks by Wasteland savages undermine that. Understand?" They both nodded, withdrew their weapons and sat back down. He now turned to Curie. "You should be in charge of the first expedition." She was surprised at this, and would have sweated if she could.

People looked like they would stand up and object, but no-one did at this point. "We have word of an attack on an fishing party by some unusual beings- these green men that you've occassionally spoken about. Your wit, your lack of pain and your concern for your team make you a better leader than many. It is twelve miles to the west of here, near the westernmost coast in fact. I'll warn you though, don't stray too far north, or you'll run into cannibal tribes. They may be joining us when Mance begins his migration, but until then, they're as hostile as ever. Be on your guard, and farewell."

Outside, a platoon of minutemen, including Jenny, and nine Freefolk, possibly acting as guards were waiting for Curie's orders. She went and asked them why they had volunteered, and many responses were given all at once. It was only when Harren and Olmadill came out that an answer was given. "Olmadill's nephew is among those there. And besides, we need to know these new enemies if that's the way the world is now. Simply sheltering us from them for our own good isn't going to work. Because what happens when you aren't around to help us?" Curie ran calculations in her head to determine the accuracy of such a statement in the hypothetical scenarios that may play out.

"Statistically, yes it would be better in the short and long term for them to be trained in the art of fighting wasteland creatures. I say we go through with Harren's plan. We must teach them to fish, not merely fish for them!" The minutemen around Jenny nodded.

"We know how to fish for ourselves." Olmadil said.

"It's an expression over here." Jenny corrected. "A saying from an old proverb. Basically, its saying its better for you to know how to do things than have-"

"I already guessed that from the previous conversation." Harren was not patient. "Let us go to the coast and deal with these green men you speak of, and give them the fight of their lives!" The other Free Folk soldiers raised their spears and axes and cheered. One of the minutemen joined in too. Curie was wondering what she had gotten herself into.

-

The journey was long and gruelling for the humans, but Curie felt no tiredness. In fact, she relished the opportunity to study the flora and fauna that were unharmed by radiation and mutation. Such beautiful and cold scenery touched the tendons of what would be her heart. But she had no true heart, for she was a robot! The desire to be something more beautiful than a mere Miss Nanny bot was something that had been with her for years. Since the Sole Survivor, General Nathan Green, had liberated her from Vault 81, she felt she was closer to her dream being realised. But for now, duty called. The botany of another world would have to wait.

She could hear many complaints amongst her soldiers as they moved through the snow-driven terrain. The wildlings were used to long treks, as were some minutemen. Others though mainly stayed within the confounds of the Commonwealth, and therefore found the transitions of long distances problematic. She heard at least two people complain about the lack of vertibirds available. This mission was supposed to be secret after all. The Westerosi ambassadors and lords would certainly not be happy to find the Minutemen collaborating with wildlings after all! But the minutemen had a duty to the people regardless of what nationality they were, so it had to be done. And Curie would make sure this happened to the best of her ability.

As they went west, they found greater amounts of small game than in the territories immediately surrounding Fjorn's realm. Haired, intact rabbits and small birds chirped in the cool air, and their feet crunched on the snow. Normal non-mutated deer were also browsing around, with a startled curiosity at the new humans entering the territory.

A lack of organised hunting must have proved useful in that regard. Here, the game only had native wildlife hunting them substantially. Or at least Curie reasoned that was the case, as no sightings had yet been made of Wasteland fauna here. It would be almost impossible for anything bar mirelurks to make their way this far north naturally, and mole-rats would freeze to death in their hairless form. But it was not impossible that some wasteland critters could manage to stowaway with whichever groups had moved up north following the Minutemen.

Something moved in the bushes.

"What was that?" Jenny asked around the other members of the camp. Curie could see a sense of unease within the group. This would not help them with their mission, she thought. She turned on her thermal sensors and saw what looked like a huge cat skulking around. She fired a warning shot from her laser and the giant cat ran off.

"Do not worry everyone, the shadowcat that stalked us has said _aure vous!_ So now, we can continue to find out what the disturbance was." The wildings looked puzzled.

"What in the hells was she saying?" Harren's bodyguard turned. It was clear he wasn't familiar with French or any of the non-English languages of Earth.

"It's a way of saying 'goodbye'", Deacon stepped in. "She knows a number of languages from our home world, but little from yours, so we may need to catch up at some point regarding that." He looked around for more signs of danger. "But right now, I think we have bigger concerns." He saw something in the wilderness heading in their direction.

Raiders!

"Get in formation! The Minutemen gathered in a shield protecting the non-armoured among them. The spearman also gathered into this outer field and began to threaten the newcomers as they approached. A demented individual with a Mohican, probably with sadistic personality disorder by the manner of his smile as he ran with a knife, was leading this pack of warmongers. Curie hated conflict, but she readied her laser and flamethrower for the enemy.

They charged chaotically at the Minutemen and free folk as they arrived. Shots from the Minutemen took one raider down with a shot to the gut, immobilising him before the leader cut his throat. "Can't have any leftovers, I'm afraid Johnny! Nothing personal." He came to approach Curie, as the most durable member of the group, she had the least to lose. And if she did die, the others could salvage her in some form for later use. In other words, she was expendable to the others. She needed to act.

Her laser caught the top of one's helmet, which melted into a form which caused its wearer great pain. She then implemented her saw and made an incision on his jugular vein, quickly ending his existence before she turned to see the other raiders assaulting her comrades. The wildlings were not doing particularly well against these standard Commonwealth raiders, she wasn't sure she wanted to think how they would cope against mutants, gunners or mirelurks. Calculations in her head saw them being shredded to bits by such creatures. But they didn't take into account Minutemen or herself! And perhaps the shipments upcoming from the Castle could change things. Olmadill the fisher was brutally shot with a carbine and keeled over, while the others got out of the way. It was too late for him. Harren went into fury and attacked the savage with all his might.

She charged in, sawing through the armour of another raider, who was barely coping with the cold around her. These vicious lunatics simply weren't used to frigidity, making them slower and less flexible than usual- allowing the Minutemen to easily move through their ranks, while the wildlings cornered and stabbed in where they could. She caught up to Olmadill's murderer and fired her laser into his leg, before her saw delivered a clean amputation of his right arm. He didn't stand a chance against the spear-men now. Harren's blade found its way into the raider's throat, and he too died that day.

Harren's arrows found the throats of at least three raiders and an attack dog. The others started taking the weapons of dead raiders and using them against their former owners, however crudely. The battle was turned. More raiders fell to bullets and lasers of Minutemen design.

The raiders retreated across the river ahead, through freezing waters they were visibly discomforted by. To be fair, none of the Minutemen wanted to go over it either. Curie followed them over the river to frighten them off, programming threatening speech into her schedule that carried in from her old programming. Programming she wished were gone.

Jenny started firimg more. "Don't let them escape, soldiers! Just one survivor could wreck havoc upon the populations here, and they could call more for help. Don't let a single one escape!" She got out a missile launcher and fired at the group.

"Genocide. Can't wait to see where this goes!" Deacon whispered sarcastically under his breath. The others glanced him a look between shots. "I'm kidding, I hate raiders just as much as anyone here!" The shooting resumed.

Curie was slow and steady in her pace, but she had endurance on her side. The cold did not bother her like it did the raiders, and so she was able to cleanly fire some laser shots to eliminate them. Before she could come further, a raider appeared with a minuteman in his grasp. The other hand held a fragmentation grenade.

"Let me go, or your friend comes with me! I don't deserve to live, I know, but I sure as hell won't go down without a blaze of glory to top it off!" He prepared to take out the pin as his index finger slid into the key. The minuteman was shuffling in place. Deacon had a knife in hand next to her. She calculated the odds and came up with a solution in her processor.

"If he glances away at any point, I want you to throw your knife to the hostage. His arms are free, so he has a shot of getting out alive with a weapon." Deacon looked back at her.

"A bit ruthless of you, I'd have thought?" She didn't appreciate his sarcasm and hesitation. "Very well, here we go." He got himself ready. She rotated towards the spear men. "Once the knife is in the minuteman's hands, I want you to use whatever weapons you can to subdue him. Understand?" They nodded, with one of the more foolish ones waving his newly acquired rifle.

The raider was getting agitated at the discussions. "Quiet! Or your friend gets it! I'm warning you bitches, I ain't afraid ta-"

Everyone stopped.

A screech was heard that shook the Earth. It was not like any noise they had heard before. It felt like it came from somewhere in the sky. A shadow appeared in the sky, with what looked like a legion of crows migrating south for some unusual reason. Many thousands of them. Some unknown threat. Curie wondered what could possibly make so many animals want to move so fervently. Most of the group, including the raider also looked up. Out of her right eye-stalk, she saw Deacon seize his chance.

The knife was tossed with great but purposeful force towards the captive, who barely grabbed it, turned it around and sent it straight into the thigh of the raider. A scream went out, and the savage dropped the grenade without taking off the pin.

Now was their chance. Harren and his men fired at least five arrows and a 22. caliber round into the exposed man, with one directly going in his right eye. He had the strength to stand up for a few seconds, say "fuck", and collapse to the ground head first. The minuteman got up and went to the group.

"Private MacDonald reporting in, Madam!" He had not been a member of the first expedition, for he was not in the names of the lists Curie had analysed in her head. He seemed young, but aged past his years and mentally broken, for her was still clearly shaking from having stabbed the raider. It was new for him.

Seargent Jenny approached him. "What do you think you were doing approaching a raider encampment single-handedly? And why did you follow us? We were on private orders from the Castle to analyse the area. How are you here?" He started to stutter.

"I...I..." he received a rifle but to the gut. Jenny threatened another, but Curie's presence made her step back. "Alright, alright. I was in a group that followed the disturbances as soon as the Event occurred. You were the first group to come here with orders from the Castle, but we were the first to come here period. We wanted to make a new start here, set up some kind of civilisation. Now I'm the only one left. Mutants ambushed us, and I was the one that got away! If it weren't for you, I'd be ashes by now!"

Harren raised an eyebrow. "Mutants? Those green men you spoke of in the camps?" He turned to Deacon. "You mean they're here after all?" Deacon nodded, and tried to seem calm, but Curie could see all was not well.

"Shit." Jenny also wasn't well. "So, men, it looks like mutants are here after all, and they must be up to something if they're this far north. What do you think of the situation, madam robot?" She looked at Curie, knowing Curie was unprepared.

"It is a shame that so much loss of life has occurred today, but I will do what I can for both our peoples to lead us against this menace! Most of the supermutants are savage creatures capable only of great brutality, and so it is within our best interests to drive them from beyond the Wall. MacDonald will give us information on how to reach them, is that right?" He nodded. "Well then, let us not hesitate! You may wish to prepare yourselves before the attack." They took her advice and began to reload. The next part of the journey would not be easy. Raiders were a serious threat, but supermutants were far more terrifying.

Fortunately, the free folk were familiar with the concept of ambushing their prey, having fed off fleet footed prey like deer and rabbits, and needing to fend of predators like wolves and these 'shadow cats' that dwelt on the deep forests. The Minutemen were much more mixed in quality. Curie herself conserved her energy to produce less noise as she moved closer to her target. She could see the green beasts. There were far more than she had anticipated. Dozens had gone this far north! This seemed impossible!

Looking around the camp, she could see various ranks of the green savages. Most were almost eight feet tall and with thick, muscular frames. Some grew even larger, as it was clear they were transitioning into behemoths, though hopefully they would never reach that point. She could tell, however, that they were struggling in the intense cold, with many in pelts made of dead animals, and a supermutant corpse on the floor, without a coat, and with much of its skin and muscle removed. They were resorting to cannibalism! No wonder there were so few hounds around. One however was much too close for comfort. It began sniffing around, as if it was starting to find one of the scouts. One of them must have been spotted!

A bark was heard.

"Shit!" She heard a minuteman whisper somewhere in the distance. She moved closer towards the source of the commotion, albeit slowly. She saw the mutated hound was merely barking at a squirrel that was climbing up a tree. Or what was once a squirrel at least, since its jaws had crushed the small rodent. It started walking back to the camp before it stood still for a few seconds and collapsed. A spear was in its jugular vein, and it began to bleed out. The mutant masters had not yet noticed, and were busy trying to keep a fire going. The howls of an endless winter surrounded all. The free folk knew this weather, this terrain. They therefore had an advantage the supermutants could not. Surprise.

"Pass that squirrel on a stick there!" A brute with iron armour said to one of it's unarmoured comrades who was clearly subservient. It tried to fetch some from a pre-made pile, though it was pushed out of the way by a burgeoning transitional form, both taller and greater in form than the smaller ones, bulging with muscles and seeming more erratic in behaviour. It must have been almost ten feet tall.

"Out of the way, oldie!" The unarmoured one pointed out, while the larger one said "the name's Punch, not oldie! You sound like stupid human!" They had an interchange of some mumbling before the sticks were fetched over to the main mutant group. Deacon looked at her and shrugged.

"I said a squirrel on a stick, not the box! Stupid newb! Go fetch some one-head brahmin!" He took one of the strange delicacies and held them over the fire like marshmellows. Harren to her side whispered- "what is this madness before us?"

"Smalltalk by the mutants. They are not completely savage creatures, just very different to you humans and robots like me made in human image." Perhaps they were not the monsters she had thought of them, they were just another form of life with very different standards to humans philosophically. She wished she could engage with them reasonably. Somehow, she thought that wasn't possible at this point.

"Where's Bones?" one of the mutants armed with some kind of crafted axe noted. "He was just out sniffing for some squirrel around here. I gotta..." It took a look at the beast's corpse. "What happened here? Some humans must be hear. I gotta-" He was unable to finish before a well place arrow went into his eye socket, bypassing his thick skin and going all the way into his brain. Surprise was no longer a factor. Now came the attack!

A gunshot went into a mutant's arm as it was preparing wood. It cried out in pain. It's comrades went to their backpacks to get their rifles to see the threat. More spears were thrown at them, though they managed to dodge most of them. Only one was lucky enough to hit a mutant in the throat, and even then, it took multiple more shots for the creature to go down while it bled. The thick mutant skin meant that even the mutant with a gunshot in its arm was less hurt than a human would be in that situation, with the thick muscles and leathery skin proving a lethal combination for durability. The mutants were already shouting out insults about how they were going to eat the free folk and use their skins as hides. From what she had heard, some tribes did this to other tribes already.

The battle was beginning, but the humans were outnumbered, and the mutants had strength and power on their side. A single punch from even a normal mutant could easily create devastating injuries or even death in the wrong places. What this 'Punch' could do would doubtlessly be even worse. They needed to conserve ammunition here, or else the brutes would have their victory.

"How about we switch to explosive rounds on your guns?" She requested to Jenny, who was blasting a couple of supermutants with her rifle. Near her, an arrogant Wildling came to a long distance battle with a shotgun and was promptly torn apart by the force of a grenade, which Jenny managed to dodge. She was now near Curie hiding behind tree cover, as well as a partially constructed lodge the mutants had designed using local trees and mortar they had brought along.

"Yeah, sure boss. Because we totally brought fucking specialised rounds to a scouting party! We were facing against primitives and animals, not the goddamned Institute!" She said this as she reloaded her rifle and fired more rounds from behind cover. At least the cold was stopping the mutants from moving at their normal speed. The commander of the base had come out now.

"What's this happening here? Humans attacking? How you idiots let those bucket heads here? Kill them all!" He called as the others made a formation around him. He was bringing something out. It looked like a mini gun. This couldn't be good news! The monster cackled as he unleashed waves of eight millimetre bullets upon the scouting minutemen, who all either quickly fell or dodged out of the way.

Now the only thing they could do was get to cover as soon as they could and off mutants left right and centre. The lack of hounds was definitely another bonus to have, though. The traditional wildlings were seriously struggling however. Most of their arrows, except for ones aiming at the eyes, often either penetrated lightly or not at all due to the leathery hide the mutants had. Their flaming arrows on the other hand tended to do a better job. Even the 'Punch' was suffering from some fiery attacks launched by Harren's archers. Spears with their sharp points naturally tended to be better at penetrating thick hides. They must have used it against woolly mammoths after all.

The commander barked some orders and more supermutants were coming up from what was clearly some kind of underground facility. Their mouths were covered in red blood, probably feasting on some locked away humans below. Probably McDonald's former comrades. They had grenades and many weapons that could shred through wildlings and be devastating for even the most trained Minuteman.

With a swing of her buzz-saw she managed to bat away an arrow that one of the supermutants had tried to use against her and approached the creature. She gave it cuts with the blade but was not able to go for the throat for a fatal wounding. This one was clearly more cunning than the others and able to dodge her assaults. She made another attempt at an incision, but it grabbed her saw and with a wrench, pulled it off her. She fired her laser frantically into the beast's torso, with which it cried out "pain!" The burns would prevent healing in this case, and in fact were going through the mutant. Even then, it was still standing and fighting. She was out of her depth for sure. It grabbed her main compartment and threw her against a tree outside of the clearing. Getting out a sledgehammer, it looked with sadistic glee.

The first blow bent in her carapace, and while she felt no pain, she could sense compromise to her systems was a high possiblity. The second blow was even harder than the first, and left a major dent and an unscrewing of some of her frame. She was dreading the next blows.

"Can't wait to turn you into slag! Friends of yours will make great stew as well!" If she was human, she could be sweating blood by now as the beast prepared to smash. But she noticed something in the back of her eye.

A huge polar bear with white eyes came and wrestled the mutant down, biting into it's neck. The abomination bellowed in pain and anger. It dropped the sledgehammer and simply punched at the larger, furrier beast, as it struggled, a shot from a sniper rifle went straight threw the mutant's head and ended it there and then. The bear then methodically moved on, taking the other mutants by surprise. Reinforcements had arrived! But what was a polar bear doing helping out minutemen?

Deacon, having just taken down an armoured mutant by stuffing a frag grenade in it's mouth came to her wandering what was happening. "Have the cavalry arrived to come save us? And what in the hell is a polar bear helping us for?" She tried to calculate the reasons in her head. She couldn't find a thing that would make a bear only attack the mutants but not the humans. In the process, he started carrying and steadying her.

"There was something with its eyes. Something...different. They were completely white, in a state that I have never seen in any medical condition. Perhaps its..." She saw something incredible behind her. "Look!" Deacon turned.

A supermutant was batted away with a huge wooden club by what looked at first to be a very shaggy behemoth. But this creature didn't have bulging muscles or green skin, but was hairy, with a huge nose and small eyes. It resembled a gigantic version of the Neanderthals and early humans that once lived on home Earth, and it wasn't alone. Multiple other of these giant hominids were intervening, alongside highly skilled wildlings from beyond Fjorn's territory, and even beasts came to aid against the mutant campers.

That was not to say the mutants didn't resist the occupiers. They began to unleash their deadlier explosive weapons. One of the giants was downed by a couple of grenades before it could club the mutants. Another screamed and got out a huge bow equipped with a seven foot long flaming arrow, and fired at the offending mutant, impaling through its head and killing it. The mutant commander's confidence and sneer were starting to wear off as he realised the scope of the attack. He had also recklessly chewed through his ammunition, and was desperate to find the next lot. Something which didn't seem to be coming, as the others were either dead or occupied with this expanding number of combatants.

Commander Raymond was here in person, wielding his laser musket-much more powerful than Curie's own built-in laser, commanding new minutemen and local Free Folk to assist in the battle. But there was something even better here. Robots.

An Assaultron-dominator was among the Minutemen robots, and quickly went about slashing through super mutants' throats and limbs, atomising them with its laser and simply outmanoeuvring them in terms of agility and speed. They did not stand a chance even three-on one, let alone with more robots coming.

"Shit, boss! Didn't know you bought the robots along to play!" Jenny pointed out as she dodged out of yet another mutant grenade.

Raymond picked off the clumsy mutants as if they were target practise. Some he killed outright, and others he just crippled to let the giants and beasts savage them. He was going in for the kill with the commander.

The muscular mutant known as punch was managing to fend it's own against a larger giant, even trying to wrestle the wooden club from it. Another giant came from behind and took the mutant while it couldn't react. It's hands already had the blood of dead men, freefolk and minuteman alike on it, and was simply desperate. "If only we had a behemoth with us", Curie could hear one mutant say as it started to retreat off from the group.

"Coward!" the commander screamed and went after the deserter with an axe in hand. Curie could hardly believe how much the situation had been reversed.

"Talk about honour among thieves, or in this case, mutant savages!" MacDonald noted as he got out his revolver and finished a crawling mutant hound. Curie wanted to aid more in the battle, but her processors were starting to fail her and she was clearly damaged physically. Diagnostics would need to be run back at the base.

She could see Punch was finally incapacitated by three giants holding him down while these new wildlings changed him up in their toughest wears. A ginger haired woman, perhaps a girl threatened through gesture she would put an arrow through its eye if it tried to escape. Two more giants were gathered around the corpse of their comrade, mourning for the loss clearly. The battle wasn't quite over yet, but already other mutants were realising the situation was lost and retreating. A few were stupid enough to simply go into the hut and down the shaft from which they had come. Raymond personally went into the shack where the mutants had gone, with some bodyguards shooting at the remaining fighters. He got out what was clearly a nuka grenade and threw it down the shaft. Then the guards bolted. The mutants surrounding were dying like flies now.

Curie's visual capacity was beginning to fail her due to the damage, and she collapsed on the floor. Some minutemen were getting stretchers out for the wounded and starting to take them back to base. Curie could already see out of her left oracle the nuclear explosion of the bunker and all the mutants inside. The last mutant standing soon dropped to it's knees.

She was too far away to hear or even lip-read what was going on, but an important wildling, clearly a chief came to the beast. He drove an axe into it's head and it dropped. He and his comrades than looked on at the minutemen casualties.

The battle under the Frost Fangs had been a gruesome one, with dozens of casualties on both sides, and carnage the minutemen would scarcely recover from. They would need to ask the Castle for reinforcements for future operations. This was the only way. But for now, Curie was leaving the conscious world and drifting off into statis-lock.  
 _  
Shutting down._

When her power booted up, she was once again in the main tent. She felt such relief that the battle was over, but she needed to be updated on what had happened. As she booted up, she found she had her laser reattached in a new form, except it was different. It felt larger, clunkier and more rounded. The damage she had received in the battle was mostly gone now, having been patched up. Now she could do her old job of patching up others, and sorting out any diseases that may have spread throughout the area. As her rocket powered again, she felt invigorated as she noticed that the sick bay was there for her to deal. She could already see that there was mishandling of equipment by the well intentioned medics. A Wildling had required an amputation, but it seemed botched and they were on the table dealing with internal bleeding. She had to help!

"What have you done with the patient?" She asked urgently. "There's major internal bleeding and no one has any stimpaks available? Can't you treat the wound?" They were quickly rushing around.

"We tried stitching, but they're not staying together very well. The bleeding is still continuing."

"The stitching is too distant from one another. You haven't sterilised the wound either! Get the anaesthetic there and cover the wound. It should clot the blood and prevent further bleeding, while I improve the stitches." They did just that. As she undid the poor stitches and started to redo them again. This time, they would be much closer together and tighter, therefore preventing unnecessary bleeding and tears that could form in the flesh. Doing so with all the commotion around was only possible for her robotic patience and efficiency. She wishes she could move beyond simple methodology though, as she envied the spark that a true human would possess.

"All done! You can put him in the beds for recovery now. There are more to tend to." And that she did for three hours.

It it was only once her shift was over she could finally update herself with what was happening. The Battle of Frost-Fang was a costly victory like the one of Rome over Carthage, or that was what her Pre-War programming told her. She had been out for two days as repairs were made, and she needed to know statistics and what plans were to be made next.

She saw the chief known as Fjorn along with Commander Raymond conversing with some newcomers, clearly high ranking Free Folk. Probably emissaries from this 'Mance Rayder' who was trying to unify the Free Folk into a single nation. Perhaps the advice of Minutemen could help build a new civilisation? Whatever Rayder's motivation, a unified nation could bring about peace in the chaotic environment of the far North. No need to deal with the baggage of the Seven Kingdom's feudalism and birthright obsessions would be beneficial in social transitions. But that would take many years to manage, and negotiations must come first.

"There you are, Curie! It seems you recovered quickly." Fjorn noted. "I could only envy your robotic strength over this flesh and blood." Curie certainly couldn't say the same herself. "But I get ahead of myself. These are the emissaries sent by Mance Rayder himself. Mance himself is...busy with other occupations, so they are here to be updated with the situation." A tall shaggy man was one of the main leaders. "This man is Tormund Giantsbane. It's said that he has laid with bear and giant alike, and fears nothing. But he's no savage, and his loyalty cannot be questioned." The chief eyed Curie up.

"Seen other members of your metal men alongside these 'Minutemen' in these lands. Your friend Fjorn has already introduced me to the other men and women here, and explained to some form what you 'robots' are-men and women made of metal rather than flesh. Is it magic that keeps you together? The blood of the First Men still has much room for magic here, as you may have seen at Frostfangs."

"Forgive me, Chief. But what do you mean magic was involved? The polar bear helping was the only thing unusual there."

"Exactly. Some of us are blessed by the Old Gods with skinchanging. Or warging as it is sometimes known. They can transfer their minds into beasts of many kinds and use them to scout, fight and whatever else is of use. Very skilled wargs can control snow bears like that. I myself don't have this unfortunately. The Weirwoods know what I'd do with those abilities if I had them." Curie could see why he was such a popular and respected individual within the Free Folk. He had the charisma and authenticity to inspire the people here. Even someone as benign as Fjorn felt rallied at the words of such a leader. But this mention of magic defied everything she knew about the world.

"Magic? How could this be? Surely that is the thing of fairy tales and childrens' stories, not the real world of science?"

"Perhaps wherever you came from." Fjorn interjected. "But here, beyond the Wall, magic remains in its forms. You might want to investigate it more. Besides, there are many things even we do not fully understand here. Tormund for example has told me that there are disturbances even further north in here. Tribes disappearing, half-eaten human corpses, and...stranger things. I hear you are replenishing your numbers, and while that may take time, I think Tormund would agree it is necessary to look into this." He turned to the younger general.

"Indeed. The far northern forests and tundras, not far from the Lands of Always Winter are home to some of the most hostile tribes in existence, but activity there is even lower than usual. Once you have gained strength again, would you go north and find out what is happening? Mance insists we must know the situation up there." He turned back to Fjorn. "It is good to catch up with you chief. Best of fortune here." He took his hand out and the two shook.

"May the Old Gods bless you." Fjorn said in warm welcome, a sharp contrast to the ice around them. The congregation of giants and foreign chieftains started to pack to leave. Curie swore she could see a pack-mammoth behind the giants. This land was truly full of surprises!

She went to the other Minutemen. "It seems that once we get reinforcements, they hope we can explore the furthest north. Some urgent matter is present there, and they think it in all our best interests to look there."

Deacon was curious. "A strange request to make."

Commander Raymond noted. "Definitely, Corporal Colin. We can teach the locals more about technology and civilisation in time. No need to rush. We can send an expedition up there sure. You could definitely take part, all three of you. We just need robots with us again this time."

Jenny intercepted. "Do we have to bother with such a thing. Worst it could be is cannibal nutters, probably just beasts. What could possibly dwell that north that's so dangerous?"

The commander was clearly tired. "You have your orders, sergeant. Help the locals in whatever way we can to build civilisation. Even if that involves some trivial exploration or extermination programs, that's what we Minutemen do in the Commonwealth all the time. Why not here? If you don't, the General himself will hear of your insubordination and deviations. That understood?"

She went to attention in response. "Yes, sir. We'll assemble a force next week. Mixed again, and with more robots this time for security. I promise my best, sir."

"Good. You'll need it. Dismissed."

The other soldiers went to their barracks, and fortunately the med-bay was occupied enough for Curie to take a breather. She had almost lost her life last time. But that was against an unusually large supermutant encampment in alien weather. What in those frozen tundras could be worse than supermutants?


	30. Cat (I)

The halls of Winterfell were silent today, the council room empty except for herself. The dark grey walls almost appeared black in the shadows of the room. Part of her wondered if the radioactive fogs coming from the Commonwealth were making their way this far north, and making the weather darker and colder than natural. In truth, she knew that the summer had been a long one of the last three years, and this wouldn't last forever. The Winds of Winter didn't seem so far off in such a cold landscape, not just in terms of cold, but in spirit as well.

It had been more than two weeks, nearly three since the party and her daughters had set off south to deal with King's Landing, while much of Winterfell's armies were mobilising against the Wasteland threat. Still no word had come back regarding her little boy, Bran. Maester Luwin had informed her of a number of things happening over the last three weeks, but none with her son involved. The Minutemen building wooden towers, attacks on villages by raiders, the death of the Kingslayer and the brief siege of Winterfell by ghouls had simply not been enough.

Even an assassination attempt on King Robert, Ned's closest friend, had not hit her as hard as sweet Bran. The Monster that had took him from her would pay dearly. He and the rest of his monstrous kind. She felt reminded of her maiden house's words; 'Family, Duty, Honour.' What honour was she upholding while her family was away or kidnapped? When her own son was a victim?

She could hear footsteps distracting her from yet more thoughts of revenge. Not adult ones for certain, for the sound was not that of a full man moving. His breath gave him away, for she had listened in on his cries since he first came into the world.

"Mother?" Her oldest son, Robb had stayed behind with her while Ned and the others went down south, along with infant Rickon. Her firstborn, she had born him while Robert raised his banners against the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen, and her new husband Ned had taken his honour down south to fight in this great campaign. For years, Cat had waited for him to return, if he ever did. Her prayers had been answered by the Seven, but in a cruel, twisted form. She had expected him to be embracing her, but instead he brought home that bastard. She could not forget that. The heir to the North came down and sat next to her on the seats, undoing his gloves and laying them on the side. He turned to her, sighing. "How are things?"

She hesitated and took a few seconds to respond. "It takes much to admit weakness in some times. We have to remain strong. But I'm not sure how much more I can take." She felt tears run down her face like a waterfall, but they felt like they froze in the cold airs of Winterfell. "Losing a child is a pain that I hope you never know. The Old Gods and Seven know that is too great a burden to bear."

"Mother, we don't know that Bran is dead. He could just be out there, safe and sound. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems." She knew he was trying to give her some remote comfort, but it wasn't falling through.

"You saw what that monster was like-as if something of Old Nan's tales. What he was capable of. He could kill a grown man with ease, how much more easily a child? I've heard..." She hesitated. "...That their kind eat men, women and children when given the chance to." As her last words came out, the taste was more bitter in her mouth. "That can't be Bran, can it?"

"He can't have lashed out without a reason. He had been fine with us for days when it happened. Not once did he lash out on any of us, especially Bran. The two have become inseparable in fact. I think the Kingslayer had a bigger role in this than the King and Queen are letting on." She was surprised how he could figure this out, but she was not arguing with it either.

"Very complicated matters, my boy." She put her hand through his auburn hair and looked up at him. "The Lannisters are a family of ambitious vipers, who will take any opportunity they can to gain power and control from those who deserve it by right. Some of the Wastelanders are no better, just far more open with their treachery. And the gods know what this 'Institute' is all about. There are not many outsiders we can trust right now." She was calming down now despite the talk.

Lysa had written to her that Queen Cersei had poisoned the Hand of the King, Jon Arryn, Ned's mentor and close friend to preserve a dark secret that was being held. Indeed, she had been found in a state of undress not too different to that of her brother when the guards found her following Bran's capture. It was not unheard of for siblings to engage in such heinous acts, so the Lannisters couldn't have been an exception to that. There was no evidence she knew of for such theories though, merely suspicions. And if this affair was true, then what of the royal children? And who would ultimately reveal this to the Kingdom, if he dared? She would pray that Ned make it back safe, and not like Brandon did all those years ago. She wondered...

"Mother?" Robb called out to her. She snapped out of her thoughts and was back in the room. She looked at him again.

"I'm sorry. Many things plague my mind right now." She got up and kissed him on the forehead. "Stay with me. I can't bear to have another child away at this time." He nodded and they sat together, waiting for messages from the others.

"You know mother," Robb began. "-I see potential with the new world. The Minutemen are commited and loyal to he people, regardless of birth or position. They've done so many things for us in Winterfell and around the North. I've heard much via letter from Jon down in-"

"I care not for Jon and what is happening to him. You are the one whose safety I hold the most dear. Your father wished it to be you to rule when he dies. I don't wish to think of it, but it will happen one day. You need to forget about irrelevant details and take the reigns of leadership." She reached out and touched her firstborn on the cheek. She could feel the first bits of stubble on his face. He's already becoming a man, she thought. "Will you?"

He took her hand down. "Of course, mother. A Stark must always be in Winterfell, that's what the old saying goes as. I'm sure we'll resolve whatever comes our way." He smiled with the vigour of a youth who had not yet seen the true hardships of life.

It wasn't long before a message did come. This one came from Ser Rodrick Cassel, who was dressed in his battle armour, sword at ready. Besides him was another person in minuteman attire with a rifle in hand. As if she hadn't seen enough of them in the last month!

"My Lady, we have word of enemies moving towards the gates of Winterfell as we speak. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them- not one of them human. We haven't got an official report on what they are yet, just that." He seemed shaken by something, but she couldn't tell what.

"Don't you have any reports regarding their appearance? Surely there must be something!" She was getting irritated at the lack of detail given. She turned to the minuteman. "You?"

"I only recently heard the news myself, Madam. I'll send any nearby Minutemen to my coordinates-"

"Get it done soon! We need to find out who we are at war with and why?" She turned to Cassel now. "In the name of Lord Stark, get our guards into formation. Pikemen, Knights, spearmen, archers, sharpshooters, cavalry, smallfolk, everything we can! You've seen what these wasteland creatures can do to small groups and we best not wait to see what a horde can do to a castle. Go!" The minuteman went, but Ser Rodrick hesitated, or seemed to at least.

Robb stood up. "Do as you've been commanded, the heir to Winterfell commands it!" And Cassel followed without question. _How much a man's words mean more than those of a woman,_ she thought. At least the Wastelanders were not plagued with such thought. A new thought came to her head.

Rickon!

He must have been in the nursery with the chambermaids, being taught by this 'Piper' woman who had become accustomed strangely well to the children in her time here. Catelyn was fine with this for the most part, but a war was going to start! She couldn't let her child fall victim to invaders like this. Especially if they were beasts that would eat men alive without shame. She entered the nursery. The boy was sat down in front of Piper, while the young Shaggydog stood up with ears arched as if anticipating the news. Piper looked up.

"Hi, Lady Cat! What's all the ruckus about round here? Was just showing little Rickon the S.P.E.C.I.A.L book that'll help him when he grows. The diapers are-" Cat picked her boy up.

"We don't have time for pleasantries here. We're under attack by an unknown force; all they're saying is that it isn't human and that there are hundreds of them. I can't afford for my boy to be in danger." She called the wetnurse in with a knock. "Put him in his room. Get two guards out of that room and keep him safe at all costs." She took Rickon in her arms, who cried "mother!" as she kissed him and handed him over, to be taken away to a safe location. Cat could never bear seeing her children in such pain, but it was for his own good. She turned to Piper. "You know how to fight, don't you?"

She got out her pistol. "Of course, Lady Catelyn. I'm a journalist from the Commonwealth, I'm pretty capable of taking care of myself in battle. I know all the basics at the very least, and I can do some medic stuff if necessary as well. Whatever you need!" She got up on her feet and stood to attention.

Catelyn knew that this battle was going to be long and intense given the reports of what these Wasteland creatures were like, so she would take whatever action she could against them, and any help necessary. She nodded to Piper. "Get your things. You will lead the sharpshooters against the threat."

Piper's look became puzzled. "Me...lead the sharpshooters? Are you sure on that? I'm not so good with snipers."

"Then use whatever ranged weapons you have at your disposal. The further they are from the castle, the better. Any defences you and the Minutemen can set up around the perimeters will help even more. Go, and do what you must." She went on her way. Catelyn paused for a short time, contemplating the scale of what was happening. Never in her life would she thought she would be commanding a castle against an army of monsters-like something out of a mother's fairy tale, not the things of reality. And yet that was exactly what was happening now. She moved on her way.

As she went outside to the barracks, the soldiers of Winterfell were in full reinforcements. The forces on the ground were organised in defensive formation as they would to any internal threat, with a phalanx in formation to encircle the enemy once they got close enough, and other soldiers to pick them off. The Minutemen artillery was fully manned, with some having trained bannermen to arm them as well in case any of the threats came about. Crossbows, arrows, snipers, lasers, cannons; regardless, this many ranged weapons would surely devastate any invading opponent before they even got into the range of swords and other hand-held weapons. Any invaders after this would be swept by the cavalry as long as they weren't too large to frighten the horses, who had been trained specifically to reduce fear. Robb would lead the cavalry and drive the soldier's morale as they charged in as well.

As much as she hated to admit it, she saw the strategy he was going for, even if it put his life at risk. The infestation could easily be contained, she thought. _They're probably those thin, bony ghouls I've heard about,_ she thought to herself. But it was one thing to imagine it carrying out and another for it to actually go. She turned to the nearest guards.

"As soon as you spot any signs of the intruders coming, or even anything hinting at them, you shall start firing, and launch a signal to soldiers on the ground. Preferably a flair. Then you will fire all non-explosive artillery rounds at the enemy. Only use the artillery when our units are far out of range as to avoid our own casualties. Once this has been commenced, the cavalry and infantry shall sweep in and finish off any remaining in the ground. If any stragglers remain, I wish you to reduce every single one to corpses. Is that absolutely clear?" The two soldiers turned to each other.

"What does Lord Robb say regarding this?" The one on the right noted. Cat sighed.

"He has my full approval for the plan. He shall be leading the cavalry personally, which is why it is especially important to avoid using the cannons if necessary, and to be especially careful with arrows. These are your lord's orders, from me and my son, and ultimately on behalf of my husband. Do your duty." They nodded and manned their stations to anticipate the upcoming threat. She patrolled the sides before looking out to the forests and swamps with the binoculars she had been given a few days back. The towers the Minutemen had constructed for sniper work were clearly visible, some nearly a hundred feet high, clearly used for snipers. Now she saw the first glimpse of the enemy approaching from the marshes.

It was certainly no human, and no ghoul either. It was armoured and with multiple legs and pincers like some crab. It was far larger though, over four feet tall and with very thick armour that outmatched any plated substance in the blacksmith's forge. The pincers were like two daggers sandwiched together, and despite its bulk, it could move surprisingly quick. It trampled vegetation as it moved under its weight, cutting out a clear path in the vegetation. Many of the soldiers stood dumbfounded at the sight of this new creature. Cat had set up a formation with an organised routine, and now they could hopefully move in and pick off the monstrous beasts as they moved in. This was not meant to be though.

She could see one soldier had broken formation and was charging at this opponent. _What has gotten into his mind_ , she thought. _Has he lost his sanity?_ He shouted "no crab will strike fear into my fellow northmen! Attack!" as he drew his sword. More crabs were beginning to emerge out of the swamps, or wondering from up the streams and rivers. How could a sea creature live in the rivers? These wasteland creatures were truly monstrous. And with him there, the archer's plan had been foiled by this foolhardy charge.

Clearly afraid, but determined nevertheless, the soldier engaged the crab at the very front of the growing formation. But the creature grabbed with one pincer and pinched into his leg with the other, going through chainmail and cloth into flesh, as he howled out in pain. The creature wrenched the sword out of his hand, threw it to the ground, and a second, larger one came and pinned him to the ground. He screamed as they began to feed. Soon, out of the undergrowth, more and more came. Alongside the normal ones, there were larger ones with more elaborate claws and even thicker armour, who tended to have the smaller ones surrounding them in a defensive formation. Then came gigantic creatures, and racing to the front were creatures resembling giant newts. The first wave of attack was beginning. And it was no small one at that.

Cat saw in the distance that this was no first attack either. A village in the distance was burning with fire, possibly also attacked by these monstrous creatures. This could be a glimpse of her home if things went wrong. She could hear more footsteps coming from behind in a hurry.

"By the gods!" Luwin exclaimed from behind her as he saw the green mass heading out from the distance, coming towards Winterfell. "I have nothing like this in any of the books, not even the Wasteland ones. What could it be?" Cat was prepared to answer, but the minuteman she encountered earlier stepped in.

"Mirelurks." Some of the nastiest, yet most common things in the entire wasteland. Your world's swamps and fish have enabled them to spread their range and reproduce at rates even we thought weren't possible. They're often run by queens, and sometimes kings, both of which are extremely dangerous in their own way. But they've never attacked in numbers like this before. Or with such coordination!" He took off his hat and took a breath.

"Then what could be making them do so?" Cat noted as she noticed the archers begin to aim ready.

"I don't know. Something isn't right, whatever way you look at it." He got out a gun from the back of his pack. It must have been one of these 'snipers' to attack from a distance. He looked into the scope and began to shoot at this new opponent. The horde began to split as some tore into sub sections, as if trying to encircle the castle. They were thinking about their attack before entering, that was clear to see.

Cat wished she could have a gun of her own, but she was not familiar with trade between the fledgling nation and Westeros. Nor did she see herself as someone who could shed blood unless absolutely necessary.

 _The lives of myself, my children and my people are all at stake. Of course it's necessary!_ She thought to herself of what she could do as the opponent was catching up. She came up with a plan.

"Archers! Fire at will for the first wave. Aim for the kings and queens of the 'mirelurk' army-once they are out, then the other's command chain will be weakened and they should be easier to pick off. Use artillery if any are far enough from soldiers and settlements. That should demolish their forces and allow the ground forces to make short work of them!" They nodded and began to pull. She realised again something. "The ground around them hasn't rained in days, and they are away from the bogs. Use fire on your arrows and we can trap them!" They immediately went down set fire to their arrows. Like the approaching enemy, they were positioning themselves towards the splitting horde. They aimed for the sky, and after a short while, they let go.

A red rain briefly filled the sky. The green mist of mirelurks was oblivious to the new threat of fire approaching. Which was all the better for what she was aiming for. In between, shots of bullet and laser came from below, offing occassional members of the mirelurk ranks, and slowing down others. But the others continued relentlessly, and the queens started launching their own projectiles, which Cat could not identify at this distance. She prayed to the Seven that the flames would take quicker than they were going at. At least it meant they had been driven with great force, and would hit the enemy equally hard.

It took many seconds for the flames to even start to reach their targets. It reminded her of some apocalyptic event to come. The Doom of Valyria must not have looked too different to what was ahead of her now. But these were no volcanoes, but soldiers of Winterfell. Each man in her army would die to protect his home and his liege from invaders, especially as these invaders were no humans, but enormous insects.

There was no need to remove the humanity from something that was never human to begin with, so even the kindest-hearted of soldiers would not hesitate to fight to the death. It was the cravens and potential deserters who worried her more. Every man lost to cowardice meant less to fight, and more to execute once the fighting had finished. And with the situation in the south deteriorating, the North would need as many men as it could to brave the hardships to come.

The red rain finally came down.

Some arrows found their way onto mud and were fizzled out quickly. The Kings, without the armour of their relatives, were devastated by these rounds, while the armoured ones did much better and often merely covered their carapace. At least at first. The fires were by far the most lethal, as even on those with thick armour, fire started spreading across their bodies, causing them to write in pain, allowing for shots from the guns to hit them more effectively. It was clear that while their armour was thick, their underbelly and face had thin armour and thus were vulnerable to whatever forces the Westerosi and Minutemen could throw at them. Even the largest one's werent' safe. The minutemen started to lead a ground assault on the opponents, blasting with shotguns while the inhuman beasts struggled to recover.

The battle seemed like it would be over soon for a time. The carnage was very noticeable already. Bodies of mirelurks were covering the ground, and others were injured.

But it was not to be. Those further from the flames and closer to the wetlands were still moving at normal speed, the arrows merely stuck at their carapaces due to their sheer thickness. Even the injured ones continued ahead. The more powerful ones had been shielded by their smaller minions. They were some of the toughest creatures she had ever seen! Not like some wolf or deer, but formidable opponents. They marched on.

"Reload! Now!" She called. She could see the infantry were moving into defensive formations, and the cavalry ready to face the swing of the upcoming attack. They would need all they could. She noticed that the animal's fronts did not have the great carapaces of their back, and though the legs were still armoured, crippled ones were far slower. "Aim for the faces!"

Suddenly a sonic boom went near her into a soldier's face. He was blown back by the impact, with sound shaking even Cat's ears with a screech. The soldier hit writhed around and screamed, as his ears, eyes and nose bled from the trauma of this wave. A couple of others came and dragged him away. It must have been one of those agile 'mirelurk Kings' that were so notorious among the ranks. They could dodge arrows, but perhaps the ground forces could more easily take them out? It would have to be with a try, or else the entire castle would fall, and their would be chaos in the North! That was a price that could not be afforded.

To the east, she saw a sizeable number surrounding one of the towers, seeming to pull on its foundations. Acid attacks and claws ripping at wood didn't do much individually, but with large numbers, they had the power. The structure buckled and collapsed, with any at the top facing certain death as they fell into the jaws and claws of monsters.

"Blow the horn, Ser Rodrick!" He turned to her with a look of question. "Look! The beast's armies are coordinated more by the Kings and Queens in their ranks. The infantry must focus on the Kings who are leading the charge. Nearby mirelurks will fight less ferociously without them around! Once they are finished with, we should be able to surround the queens and immobilise them. Do it!" He complied, and blew a horn made from the horn of an aurochs. The noise could be heard throughout the castle and beyond, she reckoned.

The armies of Winterfell marched forward. It wasn't just the soldiers directly loyal to the Starks either. The ravens must already have been sent out to nearby banner-men and vassals to assist in the putting down of this creature attack. She hoped that Westeros' greatest castle could crush such a beastly threat with coordination and determination.

From the castle walls, she could see that the infantry on the ground was building up spikes and artillery to repel the attack. They began relentlessly charging at the fortifications in a manner unusual for animals. One or two accidentally impaled themselves on the wooden spikes in their faces, which was of course fatal. The soldiers did what they could to repel, even as their comrades fell around them.

A lone soldier was seen fighting one of the larger, more fiercesome mirelurks. A minuteman woman noted- "holy shit! He's fighting a killclaw all by himself!" It was an incredible sight. Each time the beast tried to swipe at him, he dodged out of the way and lay a sword blow on the beast's armour.

Cat intervened. "Don't just stand there, offer air support!" The minutemen began to fire at the creature, hoping to cripple the beast before it could land a killer blow. The knight remained unphased.

The beast grabbed his sword from his hand and threw it to the ground. It seemed all hope was lost. But the man dodged out of the way of the swipe of its claws as an arrow went just left of its right eye, causing it great pain. He grabbed the sword, and using a swipe, cut off the left arm of the monster. Another cry of pain went out, and as he dodged another swing, he plunged it into the beast's face. Not piercing too far at first, he used both hands to lodge it in as carefully as he could, and finally, the beast went limp. _He shall surely be knighted once this battle is over,_ Cat thought.

Elsewhere, to the west, carnage ensued. There were hundreds of corpses of animal and man now. So many wives made widows, and mothers now childless. This was even now one of the bloodiest battles to take place in the North in many years. She noticed at least three queens were gathered into a single spot, seemingly to put lesser mirelurks under their control. She realised the moment and seized the opportunity.

She turned to a manner of the artillery. "There are multiple queens gathered there. Destroy them!" The local minuteman commander nodded and gave the order. A blast shook the walls as a projectile went into the gigantic crabs and tore them and their closest minions apart. Those nearest lost their coordination, resulting in them beginning to trample over each other. The infantry began charging towards the gaps in the enemy ranks. Gunfire spread throughout, with most of it hitting the opponents. A few unlucky shots did shoot allies on the ground, but this was a common element in war. Sacrifices need to be made.

The infantry struggled hard against the ferocious opponents ahead, but they fought with a ferocity Cat had not seen even from the reports of Robert's Rebellion. This was a battle of survival, for which surrender was impossible. Even so, they were losing soldiers quickly. For every mirelurk the ground soldiers downed, they lost at least two or three of their own, for untrained peasants and banner-men had no experience against creatures like this, and it took them time to figure out the weaknesses of the animal's exposed faces. The soldiers were looking more and more terrified each second passing. Then again, how many men could stare into the face of death and truly be fearless?

The minutemen certainly better, but even this was no easy task for them. Cat could already see dozens of human corpses. If they lost this battle, it was merely a glimpse of what was to come. She turned around to take a breath, and saw a saving grace. The Minutemen's vertibirds had arrived!

They dived onto the hordes and unleashed fire. The high power of this ammunition cut through the ranks of the opponents. The blood of too many northern men had already been shed today, and the Wasteland was now here to deal with their own threats. One of them parked down in an open location, and new ground recruits came out, holding guns and blasting their way through mirelurk ranks.

A queen began to approach this vertibird from behind, while the men were distracted with the main ranks. Fortunately, the cavalry was finally coming around. She could see her son leading the charge. Cat's heart fluttered, for she could already see the great, authoritative Lord that he would one day become that day. It almost reminded Cat of the way Brandon charged into fights back in her youth. He was the leader that Winterfell needed, charging into battle sword in hand and chanting for victory.

The cavalry's horses were frightened, but they did their best to chop at the giant beast's legs from behind before it could turn around and launch a counterattack. Robb scouted just out of range of the creature's claws. _He could get himself killed!_

Her hopes for survival were being held ups o far. Cat prayed to the Seven she would not lose another child today. One was enough. Just as she was, she saw Robb do something unthinkable. He stood up from his steed and jumped on the back of the beast. To say she was mortified would be a severe understatement at this point!

He began to climb the carapace of the queen that was attacking the group. Cat wondered if he had ever been there to watch Bran climb in previous times. Ned had never mentioned such occasions, but there were many things he did not mention, so that would not have surprised her. Fortunately, the joints provided space for him to move his foot as he climbed upwards. The beast spat a drove of acid towards a soldier in plate armour. The man began to flail his arms and scream in pain. This did not sway his young son away though. Sword in hand, he started trying to poke towards the great beast's face. His horse had long since bolted by this point, desperately trying to avoid mirelurks around. The future Lord of Winterfell thrust again.

The beast began to wretch with an ear piercing cry as blood poured from the top of its head. An eye had been taken out! The beasts left lefts were crippled and it sloped to the side, with her son barely hanging on. One false move and he could fall and be crippled or worse.

She was praying to the Seven like she had never done before, closing her eyes to save herself the carnage. _To the Mother, the Maiden, the Blacksmith, the Crone and all the others, let my boy live! The gods had taken too many sons today, let there be an end to it_! She wondered if her prayed could be answered, and she heard a noise of men and a screech of a beast. She opened her eyes.

The beast had collapsed and there was a circle of cavalry around it, swords in hand. The infantry had clearly moved on by this point. The corpse moves for a brief time, and even from such a distance, she saw her boy claim on the top of the beast and hold his sword up. She could not hear the chanting, but she thought it must have said "queenslayer!" or something along those lines. She thanked the gods for not only their mercy, but their generosity. Her son was a hero!

Further out, the battle was still going, but was drawing to a close. With the leaders strategically dealt with for the most part, the remaining Kings were already retreating, while the few queens around were starting to back down. They were doing so in a very synchronised way though, almost like disciplined soldiers.

With them, their colonies and tiny hatchlings were beginning to follow. A large portion of the remaining mirelurk army was now trapped in shields and spears, with the Northmen making their move. She saw banners of houses Poole, Cassel, Cerwyn and her own. Snipers were present in the few towers remaining firing within the shrinking circle of mirelurks.

The other body of mirelurks came under attack from more Northerners, a new force: House Hornwood was here. There was no way Lady Hornwood herself would be there, but someone under her orders had clearly gotten in. Their cavalry cut through the ranks, while more infantry went ahead and picked at the sides of the armoured abominations. Horses and men were still cut down or injured, but not nearly in the quantities before. What were once thousands were now at most hundreds, and the monsters were finally retreating to the swamps from which they came. Even skilled scouts would not be able to rid them all, but victory had been achieved.

The wetnurse came out behind her, with Rickon in her arms. She called. "Lady Catelyn, is the battle over? Is it safe for your son again?" Rickon seemed more relaxed now. She knew she had a look of stress on her from the battle, with sweat and tears across her face, but she and her family were safe again.

"Yes, the battle is over now. Thank you for your services. From now on-" she ceased as the wet nurse froze in horror and pointed. Rickon howled and Shaggydog growled, preparing to strike. She turned around, and a mirelurk had somehow climbed the fortifications and come to reCh her. It was merely feet away. She could hardly believe the Minutemen had allowed this one to escape. It climbed over the edge and prepared to jump.

Cat saw a discarded rifle at the side, leaning off the edge as if it were holding up the world. The monstrous creature approaching did not have time for her hesitation, and dived into her. She grabbed it as soon as she could, even when the beast knocked her over for a few seconds. Her heart raced and she screamed with rage as the beast tried to climb over to her son. She took the rifle in her hand and shouted. "To the Seven Hells with you!" She pulled the trigger and blasted into its face repeatedly. The beast staggered back, screamed and collapsed. She was out of breath, and almost fainting when Ser Rodrick came to lift her back on her feet.

"H...how is my son? My...my sons, even?" She felt exhausted, and hardly knew what was going on. "How did...it climb the walls?" She also noticed something strange in it. Something silver was embedded in its flesh. Shrapnel perhaps? It didn't look like any shrapnel she knew. "What's that in te beast? How did it get there?" Rodrick dragged her up to her feet.

"It's alright, my Lady. You need rest. You've worked enough for today, you need rest now. We'll sort out the rest." She smiled and laughed, before she sensed her consciousness fade, while still hearing the chanting of "queenslayer" in the background.

When she next awoke, she was in the bath at Winterfell, her bruises from the mirelurk attack visible to her. One was in her left shoulder and another was present below her right breast. This one hurt more to the touch, but the waters kept her calm.

Her maiden, Jenna, Cat believed the name was, came in now. "I see you've recovered, my lady. Would you like to get dressed soon?"

The waters were warm, hot even, in sharp contrast to the airs of the North, and she still ached from the earlier part of the day, the battle for her life. "I shall be fine for now."

Jenna started. "You should hear the things they're saying about your son! The men see him as a hero now, slaying that monster like that. Ne'er seen anything like it, I haven't!" She poured some more hot water into the tub. Cat had never asked for this, but she certainly welcomed it. "You've been blessed by the gods for your children."

Cat turned to her. "Thank you for your services here. Go and tend elsewhere, I shall be a while." Jenna complied and left the room, closing the door after her.

Catelyn was still worried about the future of course. Lysa's letter reigned in her mind, and her children being away from her too. Winterfell had lost hundreds of men that day, and who knows how many smallfolk? And there would be many battles to come, but finally she could see some hope in the situation. She had commanded an army for the first time, and repealed an attack by beasts.

Her eldest son, Robb, formerly a boy of fourteen, had proven himself a man, and a true knight at that. Perhaps there was hope for Bran as well. But it was best for the family to be reunited again some day. She felt reminded of a phrase Old Nan had taught her children many times, as had Ned; the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.


	31. Robb (I)

The courtyard seemed to stretch out for a considerable distance now, the trees in unison with one another leading to the Weirwoods where Father would pray when he was in Winterfell. Robb, Father's oldest son and heir to the North, looked for his pet, who had seemingly escaped into the forest part of the great castle. He started to call.

"Greywind!" The voice echoed through the halls and through the trees, but no reply came. "Greywind!" He shouted out again, this time louder and with more force in his voice. He started walking through again. He could hear a rustling in the bushes as if moving away from him. It must have been the wolf he was after! "Come here, boy! It's me! Don't be afraid!"

Greywind was no whelp anymore, being a sizeable dog greater than those in the kennels. But he wasn't fully grown either, for a Direwolf fully grown was almost as big as a horse, and far, far deadlier. That day his brother-no, half-brother Jon has gave them to him had been one of the defining moments of Robb's own life. Now the Starks had their sigil as pets, and who could contend with a Direwolf?

The monsters of that wasteland to the south perhaps. That Jon was likely exploring as he thought, having no longer wished to join Uncle Benjen on the Wall. The Wasteland too had brought many strange things to the North and Winterfell, many good and many bad. Robb knew those he had seen would not be the last, or the worst.

The green leaves reminded him of the skin of the beast Strong, who had slain the Kingslayer and taken his brother Bran away, to where he did not know. The time they had spent together was not particularly great, but Strong seemed much more benign than other members of his kind, and although he had a ravenous appetite, food from the butchery would keep him in check. He was not the type who would attack a person, especially friends at random. Robb wanted to find out the fate of his brother before it was too late.

Finally, he could see his pet had wondered in front of him. "Got ya!" he said as he approached. The wolf turned around with blood in his mouth. Robb could not tell what it was at first, only that it was a recent kill. Greywind could see the contempt in Robb's eyes from having killed again, and so dropped the carcass to the floor. It was a pigeon with a green tag on its foot. One of the minuteman commanders- her name must have been Jeanette, was a fan of pigeon racing, both to spread messages over distances too great for their 'radios', and for leisure. It seemed whoever owned this bird was not going to be winning anytime soon. He looked up and Greywind was sat down, his ears down in submissive manner. The beastly confidence that had been plain to see on the beast was now gone, replaced with a childlike innocence and apology for what he had done. The bright yellow eyes stood out like weirwoods among the green undergrowth surrounding them. Robb approached.

"You better hide that before mother comes and finds out you've been killing again." He patted the direwolf on the head, and whistled. Greywind grabbed the pigeon carcass and bolted towards some soil. Looking towards his master, his tail wagged with anticipation on what to do. Robb's connection to his wolf suddenly grew again, like in his dreams.

Now he could see through Greywind's eyes, looking at first back at himself, who seemed like he was a dead man standing. His own body resembled that of the deserter who had come down from the Wall before the moving of the worlds. He looked down at the pigeon, and picked it up. Wishing to hide the remains, he dug into the soil. The blood and meat of the bird which he had first found repugnant in his human form now tickled his hunger greatly, and he wished to feast on its succulent flesh in the form of the wolf he was in. He had to resist if he didn't want to get caught and disciplined by mother of course.

Now the hole was deep enough to dump the carcass, and while the nature of his pet fought against it, he dropped it into the hole and started digging it in again. Once he had finished, he went back to his body and resumed his human form again.

Truth be told, the connection he had to Greywind was not unique for the Stark siblings. All of his brothers and sisters had bonded unusually quickly with the Direwolves since that fateful day, and somehow Robb thought this wouldn't end with the wolves. Perhaps this gift could extend to the creatures of the Wasteland as well? If Father was right and war was close, then this could be of great use. So could a Direwolf though, and they were far more reliable and less dangerous than the monsters that had joined their world.

He bent down and stroked his loyal friend on the head. "You'll kill many enemies when the time comes. But I don't think you're ready yet. Come now, mother will be wondering where I am now." He sneered, and then whistled to call the beast to follow him towards the main corridor that made up the great Castle of Winterfell. He could hear Greywind following him closely behind, the crunch of leaves behind both of them as they moved.

Along the way, they saw the great stable-boy named Hodor, a giant of a man who towered over all else in the castle, but certainly could never be a fighter, given how shy and simple he was. He was pushing a cart full of something that was probably hay on its way to the stables. The gods knew they would need in the cold and arid lands of the North. "Hodor", the great youth said to the heir of Winterfell before moving on with his task.

The normal guards were at the doors as usual, but there were others too, rushing around frantically. Jory Cassel looked more stressed usual as he discussed something with the fellow guards, a couple of minutemen scouts coming in, along with what looked like a conscript of sorts. How could there be a war now? Had the crown come to some sort of conflict? He went to approach the commander, hoping to know something. He asked- "what is the situation, commander? Why are the guards so active? Has news of an attack come through?" The minutemen took off their hats as a sign of respect, and Jory turned to his soldiers.

"Lord Robb, the position is not quite clear at this point. It seems some sort of military situation is underway, but we're not sure what exactly. I shall let you know of the situation as things develop, but my uncle has far more detail on the situation. He shall be best to inform you when he arrives. Don't worry yourself too much, my lord. Hopefully won't be too much of a situation." He eyed Robb's direction before he stopped walking. ""Where were you off too, my Lord, if it pleases you?"

"I need to see my mother, Lady Catelyn. She's probably worrying where I am now. Either that or my brother's fate." He turned to go into the castle. "Wish me luck."

A soldier waved a hand from the corner of Robb's eye. "Good luck, milord." He had meant it in the rhetorical sense, but he did not oppose the vocal response. The guards moved out of his way responsively as he climbed the stairs and opened the doors to the halls. As he walked in, he could see a quite empty hall except for a lone ghoul, dressed in military wear, and appearing to be sobbing about something. He didn't have time to counsel though. He had a castle to lead while Father was down south.

In the grand hall, he could see mother was clearly upset about something. She had never been particularly good at hiding her feelings, particularly in times of great distress. None were like that that involved the loss of his younger brother, and now that the girls and Father were going down south, it was more difficult than ever. But even so, such difficulties were a necessary part of work. Father had to take such duties when they were put upon him, and Uncle Benjen had done so briefly while Father was fighting Robert Baratheon's war for the Iron Throne. Now it was his turn to rule, even if hopefully for a short time. Robb motioned his hand and Greywind went to the side while he spoke. The last thing she needed was a bloody-mouthed hound near her.

He came over to see what was happening now. "Mother?" He asked. It was clear she had been crying at some point, and there was anger in her too. He had seen her anger in past times, often when he had misbehaved, or something related to his brother, Jon. He wished to know this time. "How are things?"

"It takes much to admit weakness in some times. We have to remain strong. But I'm not sure how much more I can take. Losing a child is a pain that I hope you never know. The Old Gods and Seven know that is too great a burden to bear." Truth be told, Robb hadn't thought about marriage and children yet, or the losses that could come from them if things went wrong, but he was no boy anymore, but a man growing.

One thing he did not understand, or perhaps did not wish to, was why she was so sceptical on Bran's survival. Robb had never questioned whether his brother was out there somewhere in the North, as from their past conversations, the mutant appeared to show less interest in reuniting with his man-eating kin. "Mother, we don't know that Bran is dead. He could just be out there, safe and sound. Maybe it's not as bad as it seems." He certainly wished to believe himself, though Winter was coming, as his House's ancient words went.

Mother shook her head. "You saw what that monster was like-as if something of Old Nan's tales. What he was capable of. He could kill a grown man with ease, how much more easily a child? I've heard..." She hesitated. "...That their kind eat men, women and children when given the chance to." It wasn't a single rumour either. Reports from those who lived in the wasteland and the few Westerosi smallfolk who had survived encounters indicated that they were indeed capable of consuming men. "That can't be Bran, can it?"

Truthfully, he felt terrified of these ideas, and what fate could hold for his little brother, but that was not the image he needed to set for his mother or his people. An iron will was what these people needed in these times. Reflecting on the past, he liked the few times he had the great mutant around him, as it told him in its own strange way stories about the events of the Commonwealth and the Sole Survivor who rescued him. "He can't have lashed out without a reason. He had been fine with us for days when it happened. Not once did he lash out on any of us, especially Bran. The two have become inseparable, in fact. I think the Kingslayer had a bigger role in this than the King and Queen are letting on." Ever since the golden haired knight had ridden in with King Robert, Robb had always felt suspicion in his presence.

"Very complicated matters, my boy." She put her hand through his auburn hair and looked up at him. She had done this as long as he could remember, usually when she was apologising for some regrettable behaviour or when she forgave them for something, but this felt more...fearful. Robb was not pleased. "The Lannisters are a family of ambitious vipers, who will take any opportunity they can to gain power and control from those who deserve it by right. Some of the Wastelanders are no better, just far more open with their treachery. And the gods know what this 'Institute' is all about. There are not many outsiders we can trust right now." Robb would certainly have cited the Minutemen and the robot Codsworth at such a point, and he had not yet heard about the other groups there. Hopefully he would get a chance to extend ties sometime.

After this, her eyes wondered to the floor, clearly thinking about something of serious importance that could be of use for what was to come. Could it have been a battle plan? A secret alliance? Just fear? He tried to be polite as he asked what her blanked out appearance was about, but all that came out ultimately was "mother?"

She shook her head and looked up at him again. "I'm sorry. Many things plague my mind right now." She got up and kissed him on the forehead. "Stay with me. I can't bear to have another child away at this time." She embraced him, and he lay his arms around her in an awkward hug from his angle. _She certainly needs it,_ he thought.

He thought now of the situation in the south. Father, Sansa and Arya were going to take up duties south. Father was being called to be Hand of hte King following the death of his best friend Jon Arryn, whom his brother Jon was named after. Sansa was supposed to be betrothed to the prince, and he had no idea what was happening to Arya at this point. The Sole Survivor had gone down with them for a position on the Small Council to advise how to deal with the Wasteland. The creatures of that foul place were spreading across the North and beyond, and it would only be a matter of time before all of Westeros was inhabited by these 'supermutants', 'molerats', 'ghouls', which he had first thought to be wights from Old Nan's tales, and even those 'deathclaw' beasts, which resembled the dragons those Targaryens once had. The last true dragons had died many years ago, and they would never return. If the Targaryens tried to invade again, Father said they would have no such advantage over the Seven Kingdoms. After a whole minute of an awkward embrace, he finally let go of his mothers embrace, and he readjusted himself, while she touched the palm of his hand gently as a mother would. 

He hoped to begin some conversation to pass the time. "You know mother," Robb began. "-I see potential with the new world. The Minutemen are committed and loyal to the people, regardless of birth or position." This was indeed true, as no nobles or smallfolk existed in the Wasteland, just people trying to survive in whatever way they could. "They've done so many things for us in Winterfell and around the North. I've heard much via letter from Jon down in-"

"I care not for Jon and what is happening to him. You are the one whose safety I hold the most dear. Your father wished it to be you to rule when he dies. I don't wish to think of it, but it will happen one day. You need to forget about irrelevant details and take the reigns of leadership." She reached out and touched his face. Her hands were cold, not used to the weather of Winterfell even after all these years with Father. She looked right into his eyes, as if piercing into his soul. "Will you?"

He took her hand down. "Of course, mother. A Stark must always be in Winterfell, that's what the old saying goes as. I'm sure we'll resolve whatever comes our way." He forced himself to smile so that Mother could be happier, if only somewhat. Truth be told, he hoped for whatever came next to be quick. He started to hear footsteps coming through the hall. Ser Rodrick Cassell and a minuteman commander named Jameson, whom he had been acquainted with three days prior, entered the room, clearly on an urgent matter. Ser Rodrick spoke first.

"My Lady, we have word of enemies moving towards the gates of Winterfell as we speak. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of them- not one of them human." This last part made Robb raise from his seat. This was not like any attack he had ever heard of, not even like the Dance of the Dragons the Maesters spoke of. "We haven't got an official report on what they are yet, just that." This was confusing. _How could they not get reports on the appearance of the attackers? Surely something must be wrong with the information!_ He was prepared to answer, but Mother did first.

"Don't you have any reports regarding their appearance? Surely there must be something!" She was visibly irritated how little her own commander of arms knew about the situation at hand. Ser Rodrick was never usually so shaken or so low in detail, so Robb had suspicions. She turned to Jameson. "You?" He clearly wasn't paying full attention, and snapped to attention soon. 

"I only recently heard the news myself, Madam. I'll send any nearby Minutemen to my coordinates-"

"Get it done soon! We need to find out who we are at war with and why?" She turned to Ser Rodrick, clearly frustrated. "In the name of Lord Stark, get our guards into formation. Pikemen, Knights, spearmen, archers, sharpshooters, cavalry, smallfolk, everything we can! You've seen what these wasteland creatures can do to small groups and we best not wait to see what a horde can do to a castle. Go!" The minuteman went as soon as she finished the order, but Ser Rodrick remained. It seemed he took the word of a lady less seriously than a Lord. Robb needed to give his own opinion to prove this course of action.

Robb stood up. "Do as you've been commanded, the heir to Winterfell commands it!" Cassel gave a bow and went to the guards quickly to deliver orders. Before he could turn, Mother ran upstairs towards the nursery. He shouted "mother? Mother?", but she ignored him. Perhaps she went to fetch Rickon from Piper's care? Robb decided his duty would be on the battlefield, alongside his men. _As their future Lord, I must be seen as strong and no craven,_ he thought. He soon followed Ser Rodrick toward the barracks.

"What is the situation on the ground currently?" The young heir asked to those around gathering for battle.

Ser Rodrick began. "We wish to engage with them with the infantry first going through their ranks in face battle, leaving them vulnerable to shots from above, regardless of whether they are crossbows, arrows or those blasted guns those Minutemen use." Those nearby held theirs, showing clear offence, which Rodrick was oblivious or indifferent too. "So too will the cavalry, who shall sweep in and finish any stragglers, wiping out the enemy thus." Robb was certainly disappointed about the mounted soldiers being used in a relatively insignificant way as a mere backup for the other forces, but he wasn't sure how to proceed himself. All he knew is that he felt compelled to lead. "You, my Lord shall look from the barracks with your mother, Lady Catelyn."

Robb held back offence and shook his head. "No. I shall join the cavalry as they charge. Not just take part, I shall lead them into battle roaring to our enemies!" He knew this prose sounded more like the works of poetry than a real battle, but he was trying to inspire.

Jameson stood. "Sir, with all due respect, you're not a grown man yet! And even if you were, leading the cavalry against wasteland creatures would be suicide! What if we're dealing with a supermutant army, or a great band of raiders?" Truly, the thought of hundreds of Strong-like creatures bombarding Winterfell would send chills down anyone's spine as they faced the inhuman hordes.

"He's right, my Lord. Your father would certainly not allow you doing something like this!" Rodrick wasn't sure what to think.

"My father Eddard Stark is not here, but I am in his place now. I shall lead the cavalry to show my place among my people, show that I, too am willing to fight and die for our land and that I value the lives of my subjects." He turned to Colonel Jameson now. "And to your Minutemen, they need to see that I value our alliance and will uphold your duties to protect the people. All in all, it will bring courage to our soldiers and enable us to fight harder. I shall think of a speech before the battle commences. That is my order." The men of both the North and Wasteland looked at each other with questionable intent.

"Very well, my Lord," Jory Cassel noted. "But these are no knights of tales or snarks or grumpkins, but beasts of unknown form. They will not hesitate to kill, they may eat our men alive, and they certainly not cower in fear of us. Those Wastelanders are a hardy lot, so we must prepare for anything." He seemed right, but to prepare was best. _Certainly better than to die,_ he thought.

As the battle neared, Robb prepared his stallion for what was upcoming. He comforted her by his side as Greywind sat down and watched. The Direwolf was not yet fully grown, and while he could certainly kill some of the 'ghouls', he would not stand a chance against some of the more extreme wasteland animals, let alone a horde of them. He turned to his companion. "Go into the castle, boy! And don't come out until the battles over, if at all." The great hound whimpered and ran back towards the door awaiting the next order. Now the battle could begin soon.

Minutemen and women around could be seen rushing into formations and readying their weapons for the assault. One rushed one way, another went in another direction altogether, and ultimately it tied into a mess of bodies moving around preparing for what was coming. Robb's head ached as if someone had thrown a stone into his temple, as he took in all the information that was being exclaimed by the soldiers as they went back and forth. He needed to clear his mind!

He took his first food and shoved it into the stirrup on the left side of his white horse, hoping to get a secure grip. Being not a man fully grown, this would not be something as easy for him as Father. He could feel his fourteen year old's legs struggling to maintain a decent grip in the adult-sized stirrups. He could sense that somewhere, some of those wastelanders were mocking him for his young age. That only made him wish to succeed further. _Better to be seen as strong even when that is not the case,_ he thought as he shifted his mass forward. The other foot came over the saddle of the horse, he slipped his foot into the other stirrup and he was finally in now. He got his sword out and drew it to length. The Northmen near him cheered at the sight of their lord as he prepared. Or so Robb hoped, at least.

The other horsemen could be seen from a distance. Most of them were trained northerners, but among the ranks were a few wastelanders who had recently been trained how to use a horse, adding a new dynamic to the cavalry. Instead of wielding a sword and shield, they instead held muskets and other short range fire arms that could be used from horseback to distpatch enemies. These, along with their strange hats, gave off the impression that they had a particular alien culture in mind they were attempting to impersonate. They stood out sorely from his people.

He kicked into the stallion's belly, and it trotted and soon cantered towards the main cavalry body. Now would come the time to lead the men to the battle position and deliver the speech he needed to rally them into battle. The main issue was of course that he had no idea what he was going up against.

Robb looked up as he steered his mount before the group. They turned to him and gave salutes in what ever way they could, usually drawing their swords or other weapons out and wielding them, or in other cases giving the 'American' salute of the Wastelanders, which even some Westerosi were adopting too. A technician arming some of the huge Wasteland artillery turned around and merely shouted "howdy" back at him. Robb had no idea what that meant, but he assumed it was good. Jory had shown up, not on horseback but with an escort of guards. He awaited orders from this distance and seemed ready for what was about to come. Robb was nervous, but he maintained the posture that his father and his father before him had. He was a Stark, of the bloodline of winter, and today he would show his enemies why the Starks had a Direwolf on their banner. He turned around and addressed those there.

"This threat from the wasteland is unknown to us as of now, but this will not remain so for long. These beasts threaten to kill, eat and destroy everything we hold dear, and they cannot be reasoned with like men. We need to fight with every inch of our being here, so let us do exactly that." He turned to Cassel now. "The infantry shall set up formations near the front of the castle. This will help us take the enemy by surprise as they near the settlement. If we have any wood, sharpen it into spikes that can repel a mass attack, and cut down as many of the beasts as you can. If even a single enemy gets past our forces, then our entire livelyhood is in jeopardy. That is a risk I will not take. Go and secure the fields!" Jory nodded. "Yes, my lord", drew his sword and he and his men ran to arm the gates. Robb now turned to his fellow cavalry men.

"We shall come in and attack the enemy by surprise as they engage the infantry and spearmen. Stay out of the way of the artillery and you should be fine." He pointed westward. "We go there and wait for the signal."

A soldier pointed up an arm. "M...m...milord?" This was clearly a wastelander speaking. "Isn't it dangerous to lead your own army head on? Especially at such a young age?" Robb shook his head.

"Aren't all wars and battles dangerous? Today, we will fight, regardless of how much danger it may seem." His men cheered at this, and they began the march west. Now it was hopefully a matter of waiting for the enemy to falter and then attacking. It should be over soon and dealt with.

The walls stood far above even the most advanced man made structures the Minutemen had constructed in recent weeks. The guard towers were a great help now, and fortifications were definitely useful, even if not nearly on the level of Riverrun, where Mother had grown up. They should spot enemies from great distances. Robb would rather have such an easy job than fighting directly, but he had a duty, and duty must come before one's desires.

"There's movements in the swamps!" One of the men cried, possessing some of these 'binoculars' the Minutemen had brought. The true peculiar nature of the opponent couldn't be seen from such a distance, but Robb noticed that the marshes to the south of Winterfell were starting to shift indeed. It seemed as if the greenery itself was moving!

The green mass approached, and the men readied themselves. The horses could not see yet what was happening, and so they remained calm, or at least as calm as one could be in this situation. The men riding them remained on edge as the threat slowly approached, and grew.

The infantry were far less careful. One of the soldiers came out of line with the others around him. Instead of waiting for the artillery to pound the threat, he charged single-handedly into battle, sword drawn and apparently screaming, though it was definitely very hard to hear from this distance. _What in seven hells is he thinking,_ Robb heard himself think as he charged at the first of these opponents, these... Crabs! The monstrosities attacking Winterfell were gigantic crabs! Nothing in all of Maester Luwin's history lessons could have prepared Robb for this!

The man ahead fought bravely, and those in his fellow cavalry sneered. "The boy can't be serious facing a giant crab single handedly!" But others clearly cheered him on, as he hacked and slashed at the beast.

This was not enough though, as soon more of these crabs were coming, and soon the young man found himself overwhelmed, and the crabs descended. Robb tried to look away, not seeing it honourable to see the man's demise. In doing this, he saw the true extent of the enemy.

Now, there were hundreds of the buggars. Of many shapes and sizes, most as tall as men, but some far larger. The large ones spat across the fields, and seemingly the smaller ones followed them as if they were Generals in an army! Given their coordination, it certainly seemed they were qualified to be called such. Even the guard towers were facing harassment by the clawed menaces, pulling at the foundations. They were no rock or metal towers, and so they were definitely vulnerable to strategic assaults from the ground. The fool had doomed an organised attack plan, now he needed to rally the soldiers.

He coughed and spoke up. "Men of the North, our gates are under siege by beasts intent to destroy all that we hold dear." He steered his horse to the front of the cavalry, while wary of the approaching horde. They moved slowly as the first fired of arrows approached. "This is no battle for a claim on a castle, or who sits the Iron Throne, or even who rules over you. This is a war of survival!" He took a breather, as every man there paid attention, and even Minutemen units on the ground gathered to hear. Would Father have been so courageous, and yet so afraid as well? He could not know.

"Don't just fight for me, for Winterfell, for the Starks. Fight for yourselves and your families! Fight for your livelihoods! Fight for your future!" He drew his sword. "Now let's send em' to the grave!" The men all cheered and drew theirs. They started to charge at the main body of crab-beasts.

But it was not to be. Out to the west came an ambush. These were not the crabs elsewhere, but something different. Giant...salamanders?

A deafening noise was heard- a screech like a thousand dragons. Robb fell of his horse from the noise, a white noise covering his whole ears. He could feel himself cry out, yet he could not hear. His nose was bleeding and his head ached. If only he had milk of the poppy now!

Straining with his might, he pushed himself up with every breath. These monsters were allied to the crabs and had some sort of sound-attack at their disposal. They could read up on two legs and strike with their claws, as he could see his grounded soldiers facing their wrath. He pushed himself onto his knees, and tried to pull up. He felt a jolt and was up on his feet.

"There you go, milord! We need to fight-" a giant salamander came to slash, but he dodged out of the way, and landed a sword blow into its neck, spurting out blood and making it collapse nearby. "That's one that hurt you! Looks like it wanted to finish the job!" Robb turned up to him. He wasn't that much older than himself, perhaps eighteen, nineteen, at most twenty. Orange hair and blue eyes not too different to his own looked back at him.

"What is your name?" He asked the soldier.

"Torrhen, milord" he answered quickly.

"If we live to the end of this day, you will be knighted. Mark my word!" The knight-to-be smiled and they went back into formation. Robb's horse was fortunately unharmed and waiting for him. Now was the time for battle!

As he got on the horse, he charged into a formation of the crab creatures, as the salamanders were dispersing elsewhere and causing havoc. The sword ached in his hand as he swung it and hit the carapace of the armoured monstrosities. It simply brushed off his assault with little effort and attempted to grab him with its pincers. A second charge yielded similar results, and he almost dropped his sword. Something different needed to be tried. A minuteman sharpshooter came to view. He shot the beast in the face with a powerful rifle and it collapsed and keeled over.

"Sir, you need to aim for the mirelurk's face! That's the part that isn't armoured!" _Ah, so they're called Mirelurks,_ he thought. Robb nodded. The next creature to attack he stabbed it directly in the face. There was certainly resistance as it tried to pull his sword out with it's pincers, but eventually it lay still and died. He called to the men. "Avoid the carapace and go for the areas that are unarmoured, like the face! And watch out for the pincers!" They did exactly that. The stabbing from horseback was problematic, as they could snap at the legs of man or horse with ease. Many who had been on horseback were now on the ground. The cavalry charge that had been planned out was a long irrelevant dream now. Now they were just as in the fight as anyone else.

 _Boom!_

Robb turned to see what had happened, and now a large group of mirelurks had been shredded by an artillery strike. Some soldiers had gone down too unfortunately. At his feet, a man crawled to him, his legs blown off and his hand a mess. There was blood all over. Robb swore in that moment he would never forget the look in the man's disturbed eyes as he looked up to his liege and proposed to him what was to come. The gaps in the mirelurk offensive granted them time.

"Milord...please...me wife and young uns...can't see me like this! Please...I don't want to live! It hurts too much!" Robb wasn't sure what he was asking for. _He means to die,_ it suddenly appeared in his mind. He stuttered.

"You...mean you wish me to...end your suffering?" He knew this truthfully, but the gravity of the situation was hitting him. This is the kind of war Father experienced. Not that seen in old history books or the fairy tales of youth, but death and destruction incarnate. He drew his sword. "In the name of my father, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I permit you death." He pushed the man over with his foot, and prepared. He mumbled a prayer to the Old Gods as he drew the courage for the deed. With his courage built, he did his duty and drew the sword down into the heart. The man whispered some thanks and drew his last.

Robb looked down at the former smallfolk who had died protecting him, and looked up to the enemy. Only this time, one of the gigantic mirelurks was making their way over. This creature spat over great distances, and its spit could dissolve even armour, and would kill anyone unlucky enough to be without. As his men fought in vain to cripple the monster and its upcoming comrades, he saw to his side another mirelurk, this one with glowing red eyes and what appeared to be a skull on its face approaching, with claws far larger than any of the other ones he had seen, besides these 'queens'. He prepared for death.

But death came to the enemy today. The great silver monsters came from the sky and blew into the mirelurk ranks. The Minutemen had called in their own cavalry in the form of the Vertibirds! The great guns tore through even the toughest of the mirelurk ranks, and the queens became agitated, screeching to call their minions towards them. Cutting through the ranks, the vertibirds landed and so the People's militia fought for their new peoples. Even so, there were still more approaching. Robb charged in with his steed to the enemy.

"Looks like you're doing well for yourself, kid!" A familar voice was heard, to which he turned. Hancock!

The strangely dressed ghoul was in a nearby Vertibird. He had bandages covering his stomach and head, and as he walked across the platform he had a limp. But he was alive, which was better than what he had heard in reports. He had a rifle in hand and a bottle of liquor in his belt compartment. Just like the Hancock he had heard about.

"Look out kid!" He shouted as he started shooting. The mirelurk queen was approaching him quickly. He looked around, up at the fortifications to see if there was help. He saw many sharpshooters aiming elsewhere, and he even thought he saw a glimpse of auburn hair that could only be Mother's. She would want to see him strong now. Now he had to charge the beast and show his men what he was capable of.

As it aimed for the great Castle of Winterfell that had been his home for his whole life, he charged sword in hand as mud flew all around them. He aimed for the legs of the monstrous creature, hoping to immobilise it and ready for the kill. But on horseback, it was difficult to even attempt to find the force to do so. He needed a more drastic plan of action. One that would inspire his men to take up arms and defeat the enemy.

He steered his steed towards the back of the giant queen; her back segmented in a way like steps. _Steps!_ He had never had such an idea in his life, but now was his chance. His people and his family needed him, and he needed to show he was a warrior. Robb stood up on his horse, slipping his foot out of the stirrups and onto the saddle one by one. He thought he could hear Hancock shouting "what's got into ya, kid?" But the future Lord of Winterfell was not phased by this. He knew what he needed to do. In a burst of insanity, he jumped.

His foot found its way into the crevice on the queen's back, and using his sword-free hand, he started to climb. Bran would know more about this, he thought, as he felt heavy with his gear weighing him down. He needed to get to the beast's face.

His hand wrenched him up to the next segment, with his legs in toe. Then the next, then the next. Until finally, he could see the summit of the back, and a higher view of the battlefield. The queen was spitting acid at his allies, dissolving their horses' feet and killing his men around him. He could not abide for this. He took out his sword and jammed at the monster's head. It scraped against the armour, leaving only a scar. He saw one of the eyes from the beast's larger pair. He knew what to do now. He drew his weapon and with all the force a single arm could, he thrust. Cracking could be heard as it went through the compound eye of the queen into her skull, bypassing her shell. She cried out and her offspring spat out from her abdomen, covering the floor with hatchlings which his men crushed underfoot.

Another screech and the beast trembled to one side, as if crippled. Robb knew the beast's time was over soon. But the slide made him lose his grip, and he came close to falling. It was only by grabbing on another segment that he avoided falling to the ground once again. He hung by one arm. He didn't want to know what was beneath him that could tear him to pieces, so the only way was back up to finish the beast off.

He heard a shot, and the other eye of the beast was taken out as Robb climbed back up to the top. He looked and saw Hancock winking at him from a distance, holding a silenced sniper in his hand. Robb made a final move, swinging his sword into the now exposed neck of the beast, severing a good portion of the tissue, and causing the rest to tear and be loosened.

The queen was finally down, and he had been the one to deliver the final blow! He had gone down to the back again, and was on his belly. The men of his cavalry and the infantry gathered round to see what had happened. Determined, yet exhausted, he used his sword as a crutch, digging into another segment and stood up. A massive uproar came from his people. A man in Minutemen armour, yet clearly of smallfolk origin cried out- "queenslayer!"

Soon, all the men around him were chanting this name out, and they began to gather around to carry him from the back of the beast off the battlefield. He was celebrated! As he looked around, he saw the remaining mirelurks were being slaughtered and driven back. Hancock dropped down from the Vertibird to greet him.

"Pretty amazing job there, kid!" He said, and offered his hand for Robb to shake. Robb wanted to offer his thanks, but he found he couldn't bring out the words to say anything. Hancock nodded anyway. He turned down and noticed something inside the corpse of the Queen. His face turned to confusion and then a form of concern.

Robb tried to ask- "w...w-what is the problem?"

Hancock picked up a piece of silver very unlike those of the swords, something that appeared to have been in the creature to begin with. "Is that-that ain't good." Before Robb could ask, his men dragged him into the crowd celebrating. The chants of Queenslayer were now almost deafening among the men around him. Many had died that day, and many more lost their livelihoods, but the people of Winterfell and the surrounding area had survived. The First Men and the Wastelanders had successfully cooperated against a foreign enemy and triumphed. What Robb was concerned most about was why Hancock was so worried.


	32. Bran (III)

The journey up to Last Hearth was long, but now they could see the castle in the south-east, and much further to the north, there was the monstrous field of ice known as the Wall. He remembered the stories of Old Nan about how the Wall had been built by the legendary Bran the Builder in the Age of Heroes, to prevent the monstrous Others from once again trying to destroy the realms of men. There had been no Others in thousands of years, and yet it felt like the human race was in danger anyway. What with, monsters, mutants and metal men now roaming the countryside. Bran wondered if he would ever see his family again. They must have been worrying about him back in Winterfell.

"Strong tired of walking. Strong want to settle down somewhere." His friend and captor, for he could hardly tell which anymore, interrupted his thoughts. Riding on the shoulders of a giant was an experience Bran never thought he would do himself, and yet here he was, like in one of the tales. If only this giant didn't eat meat, or crave for human flesh. That would make him sleep easier at night for sure. Hopefully he would no longer have to live in such fear, as House Umber were long loyalists of the Starks. Lord Greatjon would send him back to Winterfell and he would be home soon. Or so he wished.

A village came into view. A farmer's daughter looked up and dropped her pitcher. The sight of the green supermutant would be enough to terrify any smallfolk for the first time. It terrified him when he first saw the mutant. She screamed and ran towards the house. The girl's mother came to see what was happening, and soon she too was going back into the house. Bran now felt agitated. _Had they even noticed me on his back,_ he thought.

People were soon gathering around from the village to see the great supermutant and his captive. Many of the smallfolk men of fighting age were holding pitchforks, ploughs and whatever weapons they could get their hands on. One shouted- "Get back beast! Or we'll cut you down together." The others around him did not share his enthusiasm. Bran poked his head out and a peasant pointed. "He's got a child! Take him down!" Strong roared in response.

"Strong not let anyone hurt Bran! Strong friend! Stay away humans, or Strong will smash you like rocks!" This was no bluff, Bran knew. A creature this simple minded didn't seem to grasp what was meant in a non-literal sense. From the backpack he had brought, Strong got out his 'Super-Sledge', a technologically enhanced version of a warhammer. He was strong enough to weild it with a single hand, a feat few if any humans were capable of achieving. Bran got down from the supermutant's soldiers and protested before the beast could attack these innocents.

"You don't need to do this, Strong! Neither of you do!" He looked around as the villagers cornered him. "This will only lead to bloodshed, and believe me, we have no need of that!" In truth, Strong could have torn the villagers to shreds had he wanted, and Bran knew it. The smallfolk surely didn't need someone like this harassing them. Father's soldiers would never unjustly take from the common people, and neither would his lords!

"And who are you, boy?" The local butcher of the village asked. He was a bald man with white whiskers and a rugged appearance, probably being about sixty years old or so, though strong for his age.

"I am Bran Stark of Winterfell. Son of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. I command all of you to lower your weapons. Now." The peasants were intrigued.

"And how can we know you're not some imposter from down south trying to scam us out of a living?" The butcher asked.

This question got Bran at a difficult point. It was true he did not have formal proof of his identity on him. No Direwolf seal, no paper from Winterfell, nothing of his house...until he heard the footprints.

"Is that a wolf?" A little girl cried out. "Mammy, please tell me that ain't no wolf!"

"Doesn't look like any normal one to me!" The village's kennel master noted. "Heads too large and it looks a pup."

Bran knew what to do now. "This is Summer, my Direwolf: the sigil of my house! My friend can confirm that. Now, put your weapons down- your Lord commands it!" Truth be told, he felt grand possessing such authority over grown ups, something he never had back home in the castle. The peoples stared at bewilderment at the young lord and his great mount and companion.

And within seconds, that was exactly what they did, starting with the butcher. They knew better than to risk the wrath of their liege lord.

"Strong wants to go hunting again! Bran stay with village-people till Strong get back. Then we find new place!" Before Bran could reply or question this decision, the mighty supermutant was on his way. Bran was now on his own with the locals. As monstrous as he was, Strong had been a good protector.

"Why are you with that...thing? How are you so far from Winterfell?" One of the young girls asked him as he walked up into the centre of the village. Strong stayed a distance behind him, making sure he wouldn't run away. He had to remember Strong was still his 'protector'. And to go back to Winterfell would be a death sentence for the giant.

"He's...my friend." As he looked back at his green friend. "He took me up here to show him around the North and keep me safe from enemies." This wasn't entirely untrue. The golden haired knight had tried to kill him that day, and he knew the Lannisters were no allies to Father. Sooner or later, bad things would happen.

"That's funny! I wish I had a friend like him!" She giggled. "My name's Alys. Me mam works the tanners while the grown men hunt. Lately we've seen some really strange things! A few of the deer we caught recently have two heads! Two! Can you imagine what it'd be like to have two heads?" She laughed again, revealing yellow and crooked teeth from the poor diet that she and her village consisted on.

"Well, Alys..." Bran started. But he wasn't sure at all how he would finish. "I appreciate your hospitality here, but I can't say I was planning this visit. Would you show me your family?" Summer followed behind, ever the wary. What could be so wary about this town?

"Of course." She turned to the woman Bran had first seen. "This is me mam who I told you about. Me Pa's out hunting again. He gets us the most delicious venison, you see! You'll have to try some out. But it's scary business, ya know. My friend Tommy went with him hunting one day, and he never returned! Father said he'd wondered too close to a mother bear, and that was the last anyone saw of him! Don't want you to end up like him, that's all." She welcomed and embraced her mother, who seemed older than Bran's own and more worn for wear.

"Don't you tell the boy no stories about that!" She shielded her daughter inside. "Little Lord Stark needs some care before he gets home!" He had hoped she would say something along those lines. He was tired!

"My. That's a real direwolf, the others say!" She pointed at Summer who was beside him. "Heard they can be bigger than ponies when they grow up. Make sure he doesn't eat you or someone ye love when that happens." She looked forward, staying away from the great hound.

"Don't worry." He tried to comfort her. "He's got siblings, gifts for my own. We all have one; they're amazing companions, like in the old stories." He patted his canine steed on the head and shuffled his hand through his fur.

"Well, keep an eye on him. He shits in the house, me husband won't be happy." He took that as a grown-up's sign of dissaproval. He knew better than to tempt that. With a hand gesture, the great wolf sat and lay down outside, as if guarding the door.

The inside of the house was just as cold as the outside. There was a frozen wind rushing through, and the small fire in the centre was not like the chimneys or springs of Winterfell. It was no home, but he felt some small comfort here. The stove was over the fire, preparing some gruel that these poor smallfolk had to live off their whole lives. He knew it would not be like the feasts of home, especially the one they had when the King first arrived.

"Don't you worry about little Alys, young lord. If you're who you say you are, me husband Walt'll take you back home and make sure you meet with your family. He always does!" Bran was glad the people here were so honest and kind, at least once you got past their shyness toward strangers. If only grown ups at home were like this.

"You mind if I see her again? She was hoping to play a game, that's all. I know plenty of scary stories myself, so it won't affect me, so you don't need to worry about that." Old Nan's stories were some of the fondest memories of his past, particularly stories about the Rat Cook and the Night's King; stories of fallen men of the past. Before the escape, she had promised she would tell him about the 'Long Night', which she said would be the scariest story of them all. Perhaps Alys knew some as well?

Bran could now hear footsteps approaching, and a low growl by Summer. This growl turned into a curious bark, which soon relented, for Bran knew how to connect with his friend, and calm him too.

A door opened. A grizzled man with a hardened face but kind eyes came in at the door, with an axe at hand, bloodied. His clothes were ragged, the kind of thing that a hunter would normally wear as Father had shown him in the past. He held a bag too, one that seemed red at the bottom. Truth be told, he had never hunted game for himself, and in all honesty, he had never possessed the will to do so. This must have been Alys' father.

"I have returned with the hunt, my sweets! I bring food, and supplies and-" He looked at Bran and Summer before turning to his wife. "Wyla? Who is this young man that's staying with us?"

Wyla came down from her kitchen. "Why, this young boy claims to be Bran Stark! Son of Lord Ned Stark himself! Even has a direwolf with im! Can ya believe it?" She almost pleaded at this point, but Bran just thought she was excited. He looked at Bran and back at his wife, then once again back to Bran.

"Well then, Lord Stark...it seems you are indeed the real boy. No other family in the North has a dire wolf as their sigil, never mind a pet!" Bran couldn't tell whether this grown-up was being respectful or sarcastic, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know at this point. "-It seems you're a long way from home right now. How did a child of Winterfell end up in our little settlement? Especially such a young child?" Alys came in the room again.

"Father!" she rushed forward and hugged him. He didn't react for a second, but then switched from his questioning self to the normal reaction one may expect from a recently returned father. "He came down with a big green man-the biggest one I ever saw! They came from Winterfell itself! Don't know what hes gone from though. His big friend went off hunting though, so he can't say hello to you today." She sulked slightly at not showing her father this new friend she might gain.

"Well then," he laughed. "I can't see any signs of your big green friend around in the forests. But enough about that! I got plenty of meat from the hunt for us to enjoy! That should make a heartily meal for us all tonight! You hungry, milord?" It didn't seem he wanted to specify what type of meat was in the bag. Was it beef? Venison? Pork? The strange venison of those 'radstags' that had been seen time and time again? He could not know. But it had been days since he had even a small quantity of meat, and he was starving that day.

"I sure would, ser. What is your name?" Mother had taught him to have manners when talking to strangers that way.

"Olfryd, little wolf." He rustled the youth's hair from above, then gently stroked Bran's cheek. "Why do you ask?"

"I'll make sure my Father thanks you and gives you goods when you take me back home! You have my word!" To Bran's surprise, the man knelt down and smiled, reaching out a hand.

"You have my word, little lord." Bran took his and they shook on it. He got up once more, and turned to the others. "You shall leave this place by the night, for I shall set out and take you home. Until then, we can feast!" Bran knew that this would only be relative given the smallfolk's tiny portions of food, but anything would be settled. As a highborn guest, he expected he would get the best qualities of food from his hosts. After all, guest rights were sacred laws in the North, and neither smallfolk nor lord would dare break them, surely?

"I told you my Pa's a good man!" Alys patted Bran on the back, though he wasn't sure how to react. He didn't see many girls besides Sansa and Arya back at Winterfell, and only Arya really paid him any attention. If only Father did hunting for the family. In a way, Bran could see something to appreciate in the simple life of a smallfolk.

"So, you want to help me chop the vegetables for supper? Mama's always busy setting the table and selling pelts for vegetables to help cooking now, so I help. My sister used to do that, but she died in the Spring, three years ago. She went on a hunting trip with father; he says she was taken by wolves before he could do anything. Mother was never the same after that. That's why I help her cope by making things with her."

A sense of humility and living off the land honestly, that he could never have got off sitting in his castle bedroom having food brought to him. Bran finally decided to answer. "Yes, of course!" There were far better things for him to do than chop up his own food, but it was better than skinning rabbits with Strong, that was for sure. If only Strong had left another one of those 'nuka colas' for Bran to take with him. It would make a great drink alongside the rest.

The kitchen was cluttered, the wooden spoons and such all over a firey stove where the stew was made. There was no basin to wash the dishes once they were finished with, and the pot where they would relieve themselves was in the same room. From what the 'Sole Survivor' Nathan had taught him, this was not a healthy way to live. But then what else did these people know about a healthy life? Smallfolk had been born, raised and would likely die in squalor, though given the rise of these 'Minutemen', perhaps things would change?

Bran grabbed a wooden spoon as Alys threw vegetables into a poorly sewed bowl. They took the bowl back outside into a stove, with fire having been already lit by Alys earlier. The two of them cooked for what felt like a while, using new straw to keep the fire going, while Summer came up and lay beside it, feeling happy to be warm again. Bran put his hands forward. _If only we'd lived somewhere that wasn't so far north,_ he thought.

The lighters would definitely have been useful, he thought as he added in the mixture of herbs and seasoning. Vegetables grown on the farms would be better than most disgusting "pre-war" foods over two centuries old, at least. Except for Nuka-Cola, which he felt cravings for even thinking about it's fizzy, sweet, mildly radioactive taste. No! He must focus on the moment! It was true he had little experience with cooking, but he had seen the maidens in the kitchens in the castle. If he messed up the recipe, Olfryd and Wyla may be disappointed with him and kick him out! But surely, Alys would protest that!

"Pay attention, silly!" She pointed out. "You'll burn them all at this rate!" For some reason, the burning phrase left an impression on his mind. He could hear a weak old man's voice echoing somewhere in his head, a voice he had never heard. He hoped he wasn't going mad.

"Sure! Sorry about that. My mind was on...other things." He took the spoon out and went back to work. _Now to put the meat in,_ he thought. It had been put into a pile not far from them in a strongly tied bag, sealed tight. Olfryd was for some reason or another not telling him what kind of meat it was. Perhaps it was from a wasteland creature and he was trying to avoid frightening Bran. But Bran wasn't afraid of some wasteland foods. Perhaps one day he would visit those ruins himself, along with his half-brother Jon.

He went over to the bag and tried to open it normally. The straw holding it was far too tight though for his small hands to go through. He whistled and Summer was present now. "Go on, boy-" he said. "-Open up that straw and get us that meat!" He tore at the straw for a few seconds and it was loose. He took his head inside, and before Bran could lay a hand on him, he already had a chunk of meat in his mouth. "Bad boy! You know you're not supposed to do that!" He said. The great direwolf scampered back, but continued eating the meat. Bran looked inside to see what all the fuss was about.

The meat resembled pork in many ways. Perhaps it was wild boar, or some mutated form Olfryd had been forced to catch. The meat had been carefully skinned before Bran had access to it, though the odd patch was present here and there- mistakes of a huntsman perhaps? There was certainly an odd colour for pig on the skin, and too sparse in hair to be a wild boar. _Definitely a mutant,_ he thought as he ditched the skin on the outside of their fence, hoping some stray dog or crow would feast on it. He now brought the bag over and carefully poured it in until not a single piece was left inside.

Summer was now playing a game of fetch with another one of the local children. This boy was something like five years old, and had aubern hair like himself. He reminded Bran of himself when he was younger, or maybe what Rickon would be like in time. This boy was far poorer in stature though, and was short even for his age. Still, he was good at throwing his stick. And in response, Greywind was returning it at what felt like lightning speed.

Bran shouted out. "He seems to like you. Who are you?"

"Me name's Tohrren. No idea what it means, but it seems to be some Stark name, like yours!" He turned to Summer. "Great big dog you got there. What's 'is name?"

Bran was tired of explaining the difference between a Direwolf and a normal dog, so he wouldn't bother now. "His name's Summer. He's got a long way to grow, but he'll be one of the biggest dogs in the world one day!" He hoped this would impress the younger boy.

"Wow!" Tohrren exclaimed. "I can't wait to get a dog like that one day!" It was clear he was not the sharpest knife in the cupboard. "Me parents want me inside though. I'll see you soon, Bran!" He went off to his own family. Bran could go back to his attention.

He went back to stirring the meat in the pot, with the herbs and vegetables having softened into a creamy paste surrounding the flesh, which now looked as if were mostly cooked. The smell was irresistibly good, almost sickeningly sweet. It would surely make a hearty meal for the family, even if not to the standard he was used to at home.

Alys came back out again. She was similar to before, rugged and scrappy, but now she had a scar on her cheek. She looked like she had seen something too. "H...how's it coming on?" She asked as if nothing had happened.

Bran wasn't sure what to make of this. "It's...its coming along just fine-everything's gone in just fine. It's pretty good for my first time cooking." He couldn't resist the topic any longer. "What happened to your cheek?"

She turned away. "I...I hurt myself with one of the kitchen knifes. Pa says I should be more careful in future with holding things like that...sorry I couldn't help you. I'm so clumsy."

He went to her and tried to put a hand on her shoulder, but she shoved it away. "You don't have to apologise for that. We all make some mistakes." The decision to climb that fateful day was one of his own. But she couldn't know that. It was too dangerous. He had grown fond of Strong, who had saved him many times, and to see Father behead him, or rather, try, like he had with the Night's Watch deserter was not something Bran wanted to see. "Come. Let's watch the food as it cooks." He wiped the blood off her cheek. "You'll be fine."

"T...thank you." she said in return.

"How is the meat that your father gets? Does he have to travel far to get it?" Bran was curious.

"It's very tasty!" she said. "All the other villagers like a taste of it, except that old lady in that hut on her own. She says it's cursed! Could you believe that?" She faked a laugh, but Bran could see through it easily. Changing her facial expression again, she turned around to see if her parents were around. She looked back at Bran. "Mother says those who eat it often get poorly later though. I've never had any issue so far, but I lost a friend to some kind of shaking sickness. Little Luca as we liked to call her, she ate a whole helping of it herself. Two days later, she drowned in the bathtub! The shakes are pretty horrible over some people you see." She wasn't sure what to think.

Bran interjected. "I doubt it's that bad. It's probably just the cold making them shiver!" That certainly seemed plausible. Even in the long summers, the North's weather was still frigid and hostile. "I'm starving either way. I'd be up to eat anything you give, to be perfectly honest." His body was telling him this, and yet something in the back of his mind was saying no. He just couldn't point out what. He put his hand on hers and looked into the pot, hoping to find answers.

After some time holding hands and making sure the meat didn't overcook, they were called in by Olfryd and Wyla. Olfryd gave a pat on Bran's back as he showed him the table by which they would be eating. All the cutlery was set for the meal, the candles set. Wyla turned back to him. "Don't worry, we'll prepare the food. The little Lord of Winterfell needs to be fed up before he goes back home, after all! I hope it's to your liking! Olfryd makes some of the best meat in the entire village! You won't be dissapointed!" Bran sure could do with some nice meat in his stomach. Strong on his hunting trips was no cook, that was sure.

Bran spotted a knife on the side near the stone cupboards. He thought he saw some blood on the edge, but Alys took back his attention again. "Well...at least the hard bit's over and done with. Now we get to eat what we've made!" Her straw like hair shone like gold in the evening sun. For all her poverty, she could grow up to be quite a pretty girl. When he returned home as a lordling, he would make sure she and her family were rewarded for their hospitality.

Bran looked outside at the parents and turned back to her. "Looks like you really like helping your parents out here. My parents in Winterfell would never let me get involved. They say I'm too young and could hurt myself doing that. You could be a fine cook for the village when you grow up, you know." He meant it. Perhaps he was growing more fond of her than he wanted to admit. Why not? She was pretty, kind, and knowledgeable for her age.

Summer's growls seemed to distract his mind from saying more, leaving a pause.

She blushed, though also winced as the bleeding returned to her scar. "Thank you, Bran Stark. You're the only friend I've had here in a long time. I think-" The steps from the parents began. To the table, a couldron full of the finished stew was put down, barely able to even fit on- there was so much of it.

"Don't worry, theres plenty here for everyone!" Olfryd noted. "Any left over will be given to our neighbours. It's a popular dish throughout the area!" he said. Bran wondered about what Alys said about this meat making people feel sick a few days after eating it. He hoped it wouldn't happen to him. Summer was growling louder, though he couldn't get in as the door was bolted shut.

Bran held his growing anxiety back. "Can't wait to see what this tastes like!" He said as he looked at the grey-green grewl on his plate. Looking at it now, it certainly wasn't as appetising as he had once hoped it to be. His cooking skills were mere bravado, it seemed. Now, even his appetite was starting to shrink. He just couldn't sense why.

"Then an extra large helping for the young lordling!" Wyla exclaimed as she took some of the slop and placed it into Bran's vaguely decorated bowl. It seemed that Wyla had decorated it with cheap paints to show that it was made for guests. His appetite was draining. Summer was barking now. The calm composure Olfryd had shown was starting to break, as Bran noticed some kind of tension was going on in his mind.

For some reason, he began to think of the old tale Nan had once taught him. The tale of the Rat-Cook. The man who had cooked the son of a lord and fed him to his own father, and was cursed to devour his own offspring forever. No matter how hard he tried to get it out of his head, he just could not.

Bran felt sweat pour down his fact, bit by bit. The barking, and the loud squelching noises made as people tucked into the food they were eating, were sickening him. And yet he could not understand it! Summer's barking continued.

"Alright." Olfryd said with strain in his voice. "I feel I could do with a walk. I'm not as hungry as I thought I was."

Wyla questioned. "You've had two mouthfuls, dear! You've worked very hard the last few days finding us meat for our meals. Don't starve yourself!"

"No worries, dear." He said more calmly, smiling for her. "Our guest probably wants to come as well, I'd say. He seems a bit nervous about something. I'm sure you can give our leftovers to the rest of the village. They'll appreciate it. Perhaps our young lord can find us some better food?" This last line was clearly sarcastic, yet Bran got up regardless. He nervously turned to Alys.

"I'll go with him. Don't you worry about me. Do as he says, and you'll be fine." She sat down and waved back at him.

"Goodbye, Bran. Hope you find what you're looking for." She seemed glum. _Where is Strong right now?_

As they went out the door, Bran realised it was another door to the one they went in. The garden was cut off with a fence, which Summer was probably still in. He looked back, not to see Alys one last time, but to make sure Summer was ok. He had promised Father he would take care of his wolf until the day it died. Bran did not want to upset that promise, not then and not now.

"Don't worry about all that. They'll do just fine without you. They always have." He said gleefully as he walked away from the house towards the woody village gates. The small hills around were clearer now, and the forests around their peaks even more so. Bran wondered whether it was really new food Olfryd was going to get him. _The Old Gods would surely hear my prayers_ , he thought as the two walked up to these hunting grounds. These were where Olfryd collected his food, supposedly. The forests seemed to be quite noisy for a place where big game was regularly hunted though.

"So...so where are we going now?" He asked his guardian.

"Somewhere nice and quiet. Then we can talk." Bran tried another answer, but it was lost in the wind, and Olfryd did not hear it. They continued on. Bran continued to look over his shoulder to see if Summer was coming for him. Their bond remained strong in spirit even through this, and perhaps beyond, if Bran's suspisions were false.

They reached a break in the forest, with a slab of rock, grey as silver, but tainted with years of iron as if rusting away. Father had shown him what this was, but Bran did not comprehend it at this time. It was certain he did not want to. Olfryd led the boy up to the stone. Bran saw something was wrong soon. There were chains around it!

Olfryd seized him from behind. Bran couldn't see his captor now, only his hands trying to muffle his voice. "I don't think I've had a lordling before." His voice became sinister and cold in this new line. "To everyone in that village, I'm as virtuous as any maester or septon, an example to the community. Even if you were to live, they would never believe you!" He chuckled. "Oh, you don't know what's happening, little lord? Where do you think I got that meat from, honestly?" He didn't need to explain directly, for now Bran realised why the thoughts of the Rat Cook were so prevelant in his mind. He was in the grasp of someone even madder than that!

"It started when I was a child. Found a corpse fallen from one of the wagons for the graveyard. Was old and partly rotten, but it gave me the cravings. My first kill; I must have been about your age when I made it. Had fun with her before and after I cut her short. Ah, the beauty of youth!" He reminisced. "They drove me out eventually, I found the place you visited. It's no Barrowton, I know, but it suits me just fine. Here, if a man, woman or child goes missing in the forests, people just assume a bear got them, or maybe the Umbers took them in. Just the cover I need. Now," he stroked Bran's hear, gentily but deeply, "I think it's your turn." He slipped one of his fingers across Bran's lips, as if craving what the taste would be. "You'll be a great-"

Bran did the only thing he knew he could. And bit. Hard.

"Aaah. You piece of horse-shit!" He held onto his hand, and Bran got the chance to run. The blood ran down Olfryd's fingers, but his rage turned into ferocity, as he got out his dagger and began to chase Bran, who was far smaller and therefore slower. Bran ran like the wolf that was in his spirit. He tried to get as far away from the monster as possible.

Ignoring the shouts and insults of the man, Bran saw a tree and tried to do what he had done before. Climb. A conveniently placed branch allowed room for him to heave his weight upwards. But he did not have the time to be as elegant as he had in the days when he climbed Winterfell's great towers. And they were certainly not like these trees.

Swinging like the squirrel his father had compared him to sometimes, he tried to take up to the top of the tree. But Olfryd was quick on his trail. The man pulled something out, Bran could hear, and he barely managed to avoid something hitting him. He looked around and saw what this was. The bolt of a crossbow! He had tried archery with a bow back in the courtyards with his siblings, but he had never got to use a crossbow. Now one was being used on him.

"Come on now. Don't be shy, little wolf. I'll make it quicker if you come down. Or at least I might, depending on where the mood takes me. Either way, you won't make it out of here." He prepared to aim his crossbow again, this time aiming between Bran's eyes. A force as fast as lightning came to interrupt this though. Bran couldn't see what was happening though, as he felt another presence.

As the screams of the man faded out, he turned to his side as a crow appeared on another branch. But this one had three eyes! The world around them felt blurred and distant, as if a mere dream. And yet what he was seeing was more like a fantasy than reality.

"The lost wolf pup has found his way to safety, it seems." The bird could talk as well! The voices he had heard, the niggling thoughts, the nightmares about Winterfell. He was surely going mad!

"You aren't mad, Brandon Stark. You merely have much to learn about the future."

"You can hear my thoughts? What are you?" Bran said. He did not know what he was dealing with anymore.

"Something you and almost everyone else alive has long since forgotten. Those stories you were taught as children? Not all of them were false. Many are mere distortions of truth, passed down over the generations and altered somewhat. Magic is very real, and you are seeing it here." Bran could not believe the things he was hearing!

He hesitated as he saw a green presence in the corner of his eye. "Was it magic that caused this Wasteland to become part of our world?"

"Certainly." The three eyed crow replied. "But even I cannot understand the processes that led to this, or the motivations for who or what caused this. All I can say is that it is not over yet. The lands of the east have not experienced such disturbances yet, but I sense that they shall. I see many things; a thousand eyes and one. And yet even that cannot help me now." His previously unshakeable confidence seemed doubted now. "But you can."

Bran wasn't sure what to respond to this with. "H...Ho-in what way could I help you?"

The bird replied once more, only it seemed less like bird and more like man. One eye was red and dim while the other human against the bird's complexion. "You and one of these newcomers, whom you call 'Wastelanders' has been sent in my direction. What was once written in ink has been spilled, and this will have many implications on the future. The time will come when you put away your childish things and uphold your destiny, but that shall come when you are ready. For now, I shall wait, as I have done for much time before. You have only begun to scratch the surface."

Bran felt tired, as the blurring around him ceased and returned to normal. He rubbed his eyes and closed them. The bird was gone again now. He looked down and saw Olfryd's body on the ground, knife in hand, bloodied. His cold eyes were even more dead than they had been before, and his haunting sneer pierced into Bran's soul. To his right side lay Summer, bleeding but standing proud back at his master. Bran wanted to help his friend and nurse him to health.

To the left was the one Bran had hoped would return earlier; Strong. "Strong back from hunting. Strong kill evil man who tried to eat Bran. Strong won't leave Bran like that again." As he climbed back to ground level, Bran embraced the great supermutant and climbed up onto his shoulders. He was still a child, and needed a protector ultimately. "Strong meet with big bearded men' servants. Beard-men want to see us all soon!"

Bran shook his head. "Surely, they would hand you over to my father or the Minutemen. Or even the Crown given what you did!" When he saw the golden haired ones together, he felt it would have serious implications for Father's friend the King. "You'd be taken from me, and they wouldn't believe what we saw. They may not believe me on my own, a child and all.

Strong seemed to grin. "Strong have cunning plan."


	33. Tyrion (II)

The Lord Tyrion Lannister and the knight Garlan Tyrell tracked alone through the deserts surrounding this 'Nuka Wprld. It was a considerably more dry territory than the lands that had once been here, and more untamed as well. The dozens of soldiers he had brought with him, and even his squire, were luxuries he no longer had any access to. Only the sights he had seen on the way in were holding up his hopes at this point. At least now he had an idea on where he was going.

The trek from the Transit station had been a considerable while. At least twenty miles is what it seemed to be. On the way, they had seen packs of enormous crickets, aggressive and hostile, yet with succulent, watery meat underneath, something that would be useful to anyone feasting on them. The hairless rats he had seen on the way to Winterfell were present here too, along with more normal looking rats of unusual size. And the ants were truly a sight to behold as well. Ants that could rip men apart in their swarms! Even the hoofed animals were strange, with two headed antelope and long-horned aurochs. The worst of all were the two legged beasts Tyrion had only seen from a great distance, and while hiding. These lands were nastier than anything he had read about in Essos! Perhaps Old Valyria had such monstrosities living on the lands.

 _Perhaps this 'Gauntlet' would have been a far quicker experience_ , Tyrion wondered. _Then again, we may never have come out alive_. Being out in the wilderness with little on him was no time to think counter-intuitively though. The wealth of Casterly Rock certainly did not dwell on him now. And that fool Podrick had been too clumsy and slow to follow his master through. What was surprising was that the Nuka Wprld guards hadn't sent any to track them down. Their superior weapons would surely have helped them destroy him with ease, so he wondered what could be going on there. Perhaps one of them had already taken charge of this land?

The two of them walking through the wilderness together, passing the occassional smallfolk traveller or bypassing the dangers of the wilds, reminded Tyrion of the old stories of Dunk and Egg his uncle Gerion had taught him. How the young Aegon the Fifth Targaryen once served as a lowly squire to a hedge knight, and the two had many adventures together. But those two men had died where this land had once been, and even they never encountered things this strange.

Wiping the sweat from his brow under the intense sun, he asked his companion. "How long do you think it will be till we reach this park?" It was too long, whatever it was.

The young lord Tyrell turned to him, even hotter in his plated armour, and with the bag in which their supplies were held was on his back too. "It shouldn't be long now, my lord. It's been a while since the last water we saw." It was true. Tyrion had run out of wine pretty soon on. Now he couldn't drink away the pain anymore. He hoped those cheap drops would not be the final time he would taste wine.

"I'm not sure how much longer we can go." Tyrion was used to walking on horseback. At a height as short as his, walking normally for long distances was not ideal by any means. He had to make many stops on the way just to get here, and now, he felt as if he could collapse.

"Look! There's something in the distance!" His relief and enthusiasm was clear to see, ignoring any possible dangers that may lurk there. Garlan showed the kind of privileged idealism that Tyrion could never have shared himself. Being raised in the richest house in Westeros could not have sheltered him from the stigma of being a dwarf. A drunken, whoring dwarf at that. Love of the fair, romantic type was not something he felt with ease- not after Tysha. That, and the many other losses he had suffered through his life ensured that being the noble knight of songs, whom maidens would wettern at the sight of was not on his mind. No maidens would swoon for a vile, disfigured imp, at best he would merely get pity. What he wanted far more though was recognition of his humanity. Perhaps the Wastelanders, having seen the depravity of man firsthand, would give him a place there? He didn't seem hopeful.

Nevertheless, Tyrion forced himself to see what was in the distance. He squinted and saw what seemed to be some kind of settlement. With towers and barracks, most strangely similar to those of Westeros, made of wood from surrounding trees, though with metal houses-ruins perhaps? And there were people patrolling it too? A military fortress? The park itself seemed to be owned by savage raiders, so perhaps these were a group out to oppose the savages? Just as pirates in the Stepstones and Sothyros had rival cities, perhaps these would be the start of something similar?

Tyrion noticed that Garlan had his sword withdrawn, as if to prepare for battle. It wasn't one that would end well if it were to happen.

"It looks like a military encampment. Not one of ours, either. We should extend our hand diplomatically, I'd say. Maybe they'd have something of use for us?" Tyrion's diplomatic skills had been honed over the years by Father's disciplinaries, his conversations with Jaime and his visits from Uncle Gerion. All the gold in the Westerlands couldn't save his life in some conversations he may have to hold, after all.

"We must be careful then. We don't have any of these...these...what do the wastelanders have, those-" Tyrell started.

"Guns. That's what they call them." Tyrion replied. "They use some kind of powder to make small explosions that propell forged shrapnel into their targets. Deadlier than any crossbow, from what I've heard. So I'm afraid if things get hostile, we will probably end up in the ashes. Or worse." The sun was beating down on them as they approached this new camp. Tyrion could see some figures starting to approach them.

"Welcome strangers!" A woman in unusual gear cried out to him from the top of the tallest barrack. "We are the Hubology group, and we wish to have your company here!" Tyrion was confused why they were so friendly. In Westeros, it was the laws of the land that hospitality was an unbreakable agreement, of which violation was an unforgiveable sin. His father would certainly not have believed such superstitions and treated those willing to welcome strangers into their territory with great esteem.

"Thank the gods." Garlan wheezed out, exhausted in his sweating plated armour. He took off his helm to better see. The knight of Tyrell was more red than a rose underneath his green armour. "We've walked miles in this heat. It's like being in the Red Waste here! How do you and your people survive out here, especially with these 'raiders' to the north?" Tyrion hoped they weren't merely vassals of the savages out to turn them in to that dreaded 'Gauntlet' he had heard about.

A group of guards came forth from around, holding their guns at the steady, wary of the newcomers. Some looked at Tyrion in particular, whispering to themselves. He heard some mention of 'mutant' and another of 'back in California', things Tyrion couldn't hope to know, but knew were certainly insults.

"Ah, I presume none of you have seen a dwarf before?" He turned around and waved his hands in a shrug. "I'm just as much of a man as any of you." Perhaps more so, since he had not been exposed to this dreaded radiation and its effects. "I hope that means you haven't set me and my friend as targets?" The fact they hadn't shot him on sight seemed to suggest so.

"Fear not, newcomers. We hold no such prejudices here" One of them came forth. The man was wearing strangely coloured robes, vaguely similar yet very distinct from what smallfolk septons may wear. "The Star-Father has been generous to us recently. So many who come here come with hostile intent, slaves to the neurodynes that hold over their brains and their souls. And yet you here are so friendly and open to us? A genuine blessing." Tyrion seemed confused with this barrage of new terminology, and Garlan was barely hiding a smirk, he noted.

"Perhaps you can be freed from your neurodynes too; set aside your old ways, give up your old possessions and join in our hub? The way of the Hub will bring meaning and purpose to your life you never had before. Your past will melt away and you can join in our Star Father's loving embrace!" _Oh great_ , Tyrion thought. _We're stuck with zealots. I'm guessing they want me to donate Casterly Rock's wealth to them as well?_

"Right..." Garlan seemed even more confused now. He tried to articulate speech. "We...w-we wish for a place to stay, kind 'Hubologists''. We are many miles from home, isolated from our vassals and guards, and have been forced to wonder these strange lands for time come. We are exhausted and desperately need to survive if our mission is to be considered. We have dragons and stags and bronze on us to pay for the night, or even two if need be. I'm not sure how much longer we Highborn can survive unassisted. We humbly request you allow us to stay." He bowed humbly before the fanatics. _Ever the galant,_ Tyrion thought. Surely it wouldn't be long before they had somewhere to rest. And better soon than in a raider's cage.

"Dragons? Stags?" One of the guards asked. "We've never heard of those kind of currencies here? The best we know of is those radstags found to the eastern lands of Boston, and I have no idea what these 'dragons' are you refer to. And how would you trade animals like that?" They clearly weren't educated, that was sure.

"It...uh, means coins. Currency. They're figures of speech. Names, even." Tyrion interjected.

"Oh, right." The man said, fumbling in his pockets. "Those don't sound like anything we know, not even pre-war money. I'm afraid we normally trade bottlecaps everywhere we go. How on Earth do you have something different to bottlecaps? Everywhere in America has been using bottlecaps since the Great War!"

"You're not in this 'America' anymore." The Imp replied.

"I...I...I don't understand." The man spoke out. He seemed to prepare for some kind of hostility, gesturing and he held a pistol in his holster. The guards raised their weapons in response as he looked at them. He turned back. "Where do you come from, outsiders?" A woman in more elaborate robes stepped from outside the camp, armed with one of these guns which the wastelanders possesed. She moved him aside with a gentle shove.

"Do not fear, brother Cleansed. These are ones who come from the lands the Star-Father has prepared for us." She kept her hand on his shoulder, reassuringly. _Even their leader genuinely believes in these things,_ Tyrion thought.

"I...I don't understand." This 'Cleansed' said in reply, looking warily to Tyrion and Garlan and up to the sky. "How could this be?"

"You saw the skies, how they glowed green like the radiation we have seen, and then the stars themselves changed. No more Apollo's Belt, Mars or Betelguise, but new stars for us to gaze on! We have not merely been moved to a new land on Earth, but a new world! He has taken our world closer to Quetzal now! Perhaps even on it!" Cleansed' confusion only seemed to grow, and so did Tyrion's.

"I've...never thought this would happen? It's...unpresidented!"

The leader walked in front of him, now facing the rest of the gathering Hubologists, who included men, women and even a child among them. "He works in mysterious ways, and perhaps now, outside this valley, we can finally find the land that was promised to us! Just as the Hub predicted!" He nodded assuringly, and the other guards around the park listened in. She clearly held great authority over all of them, and they obeyed. Only one in the crowd still seemed sceptical now. She now turned to Tyrion and Garlan once more. "Welcome, new ones, to our humble abode, and may the Star-Father bless you in your time here!" The guards lowered their weapons and so, after a glance at Garlan, Tyrion proceeded forward.

The camp was quite bare-boned, with small metal huts surrounding larger brick ones, smaller than castles but bigger than smallfolk residence, with old glass windows broken by years of abuse. To the edge, a small tower with some washed out sign stood, seeming to represent a sign like those of some tavern. Perhaps this place was once a strange tavern before the Great War?

On the other side of the camp, a thick red tower, some thirty feet tall or more, atoof out from the rest of the scenery, surrounded by fencing, bushes and overgrown vines. It held signs saying that it was the 'world's largest fire-hydrant', with plastic models of people stood around it, as if in awe. _They would probably be useful for scouts, or just something for smallfolk to waste their time on_ , he thought. Crips of several types were also being grown, some familiar to Tyrion and others less so. Melons tended to be grown in tropical lands such as the Summer Isles, so it was strange to see them here. And bizarre yellow fruits stood from giant grasses, plucked by another Hubologist for some kind of food. Still, it seemed to feed this settlement just fine.

There was much debri around though, metals, wood and these strange substances that he was not familiar with. Before Jaime's... he had heard some Minuteman calling it plastic. in the centre seemed to be some kind of giant campfire. It was more than he expected to find around here, but it certainly wasn't what he had wanted. Almost nothing seemed to be nowadays.

"I can presume there won't be any whores here for us to have our way with while we wait till tommorow?" He hadn't been with a whore since his brief visit to Flea Bottom. Littlefinger's brothels always satisfied their customers, and even the little lion of Lannister could not deny that the slimy lord knew something about that particular art. "A lord has many desires and needs, especially in such trying times as this, after all."

The Cleansed clearly looked with disgust at these thoughts, but the leading woman seemed to try and brush them off. "I'm afraid our standards of life are very different to the ones you outsiders have. You clearly have very different outlooks on life to all those Commonwealth residents. You ever encountered such peoples?"

Unlike Garlan, Tyrion could say the truth here. "Indeed I have, albeit far more distant than what you may have remembered. A very queer place, I must say from what I have heard about it and seen of the people there. It certainly seems a terrifying place in its own right. And yet, in all that brokeness, the spirit of men continues on. Truly a story for the songs." He wondered if people would sing songs about him from his time here.

"I can also presume the accomodation here won't exactly be the custom we lords are used to?" He remarked. Still, it would certainly be better than anything Summerhall would have in its ruins, if it was still around. And all he had to sleep with was some piss-encrusted bag that Podrick had reserved for himself. Surely his own bag would be somewhere in the 'pack-horse' bag as well? He and Garlan had taken turns moving it along; without a horse, it surely was an awkward job. Soon they would be living off the land like farmers!

"We don't have much here, but we have enough crops and food from hunts to surfice, so don't you worry." The leader came across. "Forgive me for not introducing myself; my name is Dara Hubbel, and I am AHS9 of the Hubologists. Thier leader if you will. Our way of life, Hubology, centres around the teachings of the prophet, Hub, hoping for us to reunite with our cosmic father in the heavens. He has been so generous to us lately, with all the movements in the skies! And it seems he is giving us people to spread our message to as well! We hope that you travellers can find peace here you couldn't find in your outer lives. Speaking of that, who are you? And where do you come from? Is it Quetzal come to us?"

Tyrion was momentarily dumbfounded. But if it was what the madwoman wanted, then he could play along with it. "I am Tyrion of House Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock, owner of some of the greatest gold mines in Westeros and in the world. And my companion is Garlan of House Tyrell, owner of our kingdom's farms, vineyards and grain for the entire continent!" He hoped he wasn't overdoing it here. She surely was just as dumbfounded as he had been earlier, and the others nearby even more so.

"I have seen many oddities and strange things besides myself over the years, but these wastelands top them all surely!" He didn't have to lie or exaggerate for that part. "For your hospitality, you shall recieve great compensation at my hand, and that of my father and even the King himself! We shall also respect your beliefs and learn more about them whenever the opportunity arises." This felt at least partially genuine, since he hoped to gain some place to stay while the others were trapped in the Gauntlet, something he would have no hope whatsoever of surviving. At least he would have died knowing Podrick would follow him into the grave.

"Compensation would be great for us," Dara smiled. "We are always in need of donations to ensure our work is complete. Now, make yourselves at home here. You should be equipped enough to make your way up to the city, though watch out for those awful raiders when you get there!" She went off, leaving this 'Cleansed' with them. Garlan wasn't sure what to think at this point either, it seemed. He looked around to see if anyone else was coming in to the back. If they had come in from Westeros so easily from the monorail so easily, how easy would it be so for people who could move in by force? Perhaps their weapons, or their strange insanity kept them safe from those raiders in their 'Nuka World' towers. Tyrion wondered if this could prove useful in combat situations. A refuge in the audacious.

Garlan looked back at Tyrion. "I guess we make ourselves at home now?" He gathered out a sigil with his house's sign out of the backpack, something Tyrion had never even contemplated on his way there. They wouldn't exactly be getting savage raiders and scattered settlers to swear fielty to such noble blood as Mace Tyrell or Renly Baratheon! At least the sigil could give something to talk about when more of those guards inevitably would come over to ask. Which hopefully wouldn't be often. Tyrion was not the sociable young man he once was. He would now prefer wine, or whatever beverage was at hand. Since Winterfell, he had certainly became less refined in his tastes. Experiencing the savageries of life first hand tended to do that, he thought.

"Of course." He said with reservation. The young lord Tyrell soon began disrobing out of his thick plated armour. Such was designed to avoid blows from swords and even heavier weapons, the kind smallfolk could never afford. It certainly wouldn't be enough to stop a powerful bullet or the ripping of one of those clawed horrors that Preston Garvey had described to him on the hunt for the boar. The wasteland creature's would put any bear or lion to shame. Perhaps dragons, or something like them roamed around these places. Tyrion would have loved to see a dragon in the flesh, ever since the dreams of his childhood.

The young lord was shed of his armour now to sweaty garments that would certainly need changing for diplomatic matters, which would need to be conducted soon if he were to negotiate the release of his allies. While he and Garlan were the most valuable expeditionaries, it would not look good on Lord Renly, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and member of the Small Council to be found unable to explore a new land far smaller than the Commonwealth. Though it seemed equally hostile from what he had gathered. Even the creatures of Strong's and Crag's kind were present in the corners around the park. Garlan would hopefully protect one of the most important men in te Seven Kingdoms, surely?

"I guess we can go about exploring?" Garlan was quick to point.

"After all that we just did?" Tyrion acted more surprised than he was. The man had plenty of energy in him, that was sure. "Surely we should rest first?" We don't exactly have a deadline to uphold bringing this place to Robert's rule!"

The young Tyrell wiped swear from his brown brow. "A highborn dwarf like yourself may tire easily, but a knight of Tyrell does not. I would wish to see this park sooner rather than later! My siblings would surely love to hear what I have to say!" He turned towards the centrepiece where Summerhall once stood.

"I admire your ambition." Tyrion said. "But it could be the death of us all one day! What's so special about this 'Nuka world', honestly?" He turned to see it all. He has seen glimpses of the parks on the 'monorail, but it seemed even greater in size from this distance. A mountain made by men, a pink castle of all things, and huge metal snakes' skeletons towering over much of the expanse. It would be a nightmare to explore safely, he figured. Perhaps if he sent a raven...but he had no ravens to send. So much he had left with Podrick and the minor guards. Perhaps he could convince the fanatics to proselytise to the raiders...pacify them and invite some poor soul in to be Lord of this region?

Garlan sat down near the great campfire at the centre, warming his feet in the great fire. "Uh! The smell is truly queer here. What are they burning exactly as fuel? It doesn't seem natural!" It was true. These smells of fuel were pungent and intense, nothing natural to them at all. No perfume could cover these scents, he figured.

The smell died down as one of the guards bought food. This dish was a strange one consisting of meats of local wildlife, for which Tyrion wasn't sure he wanted to know, marinated in some kind of red sauce, probably grown from tomatoes and herbs. It wasn't the best he had seen by far, but he was hungry enough to take it. He turned and asked "what is the sauce, if I ask?"

Cleansed replied. "It's Tato sauce. Tato's like a hybrid of tomato and potato, presumably done before the Great War. Has a tomato's rich and juicy flavour but the softness and crumbly textures of a potato, with all the nutrients of both! We need it out here to maintain our lifestyle, and it's grown all across the Wasteland. Or it was at least." He looked around. Herbs are just things we picked up growing nearby that tastes good. That or remains from the cans. It doesn't sound nice, but it does the trick just fine. May the Star-Father bless you as you eat together." He crossed his arms into a feature as if recanting some blessing like the Septons would over meals. And he left.

Tyrion wolfed down his meal with a metal spoon, made of 'stainless steel', whatever that was supposed to infer.

The soup was thicker than tomato, but no less creamy, the herbs were mixed from too light to overwhelmingly strong, and the meat was chewy but dull in flavour, except for some bits that were very rich and lean. It was definitely made from at least two or three different animals. _Their cookery skills need some work,_ he thought. _But maybe they could at least find jobs in the Royal kitchens?_

Not nearly as wholesome as the cricket meat he had tried in previous days. He reckoned it had been taken from a mixture of rats, small lizards and perhaps gazelle, for he had heard the odd trader speak about them, with their two heads and extra pair of legs protruding out the chest. What else could be dwelling here to be made into a Wastelander delicacy? Tyrion wondered if breeding some of these animals in Westeros could help alleviate the food shortages that King's Landing was facing. It would need a lot more than that to solve the other problems though.

He got handed some yellow fruit from te locals. "It's corn. Very nice." He said, as he walked away. A very queer fellow indeed, he thought. He tucked into this hoping it to be better. It was a strange flavour, like no vegetable in Westeros, full of water, yet strong too. This was a far better dish. Tyrion gorged into this new food, and within mere minutes, te food was finished. Garlan had finished his too when he looked.

The young lord Tyrell waved to him and said. "Best not to sleep on an empty stomach. I need to rest myself tonight, that is most certain. Good night, my Lord, and may tommorow be a brighter day." _I hope to the gods it is,_ he thought.

He collapsed from the exhaustion after opening his bag and laying his straw pillow beneath his head. One of the others, a little girl came, wearing a white dress for night, and with an almost unfeasible small nose. Clearly they were mutated after all. "You don't need to use straw, ya know!" She handed him another one, white and I stained. "It's made of some other stuff mom hasn't taught me about. Should be much softer than straw, you know." He noticed she had a limp. And he took it, looking up to her with his mismatched eyes.

"Thank you, young one." He said. "Tell me, what is your name, or that of your parents?" He wishes to return the favour for her whatever way he could. While he was a Lannister, he always shared something for small, broken things like himself, and he could not let a debt go unpaid.

"My name's Janice. My parents are Sophia and Kurt Dover, though they never let me call them that. It's rude to speak to grown ups that way, they say."

"I will make sure you are given enough compensation to take care of yourselves. I will get a Maester, a 'doctor', or even one of those stimpaks I've heard about, and I will make sure your leg is fixed too. You deserve more than this child. Don't let them fool you." He spoke of the cultists they dwelt among.

"Thank you, mister. You're so nice to me! Nightie night!" She giggled and ran off to her apartment, where her parents were waiting, as if with worry. Probably too quick to judge a dwarf, he figured.

Still, he felt the rush of kindness from this situation. That was certainly flowing between people, not these 'neurodynes' Dara spoke of. Kindness could actually be observed and measured, for a start. Too many people, his own family included, didn't seem to have any themselves. He laid down once more and looked to the horizon as e tucked himself in with his new pillow.

As he looked at the setting sun, the golden and red colours of House Lannister were present in the sky. Perhaps the sunset kingdoms would finally get their sunset soon?

His father had not taken the news of the Tragedy at Winterfell well at all, even if Jaime would never have been able to become heir, due to his extensive oaths. Even under his pragmatism and political wits, his father would never have let such a thing off. He had destroyed the Reynes and Tarbecks for much less. What he would do to those responsible this time would make that pale in comparison. Whichever Wastelanders his father would let live would be too cowardly isolated to care. Some of the animals could be of use in the new kingdom though.

But it was a big assumption that such a military feat would even be possible. Tyrion wondered how even the massive and fed royal armies could dispose of the technologically advanced newcomers though, or even the creatures living alongside them.

Already men in the North and Riverlands, even Smallfolk, were being recruited into the Minutemen, protecting the people and all that. The old Kingswood Britherhood was fading away in the face of the newcomers who could actually protect them from monsters.

The Brotherhood of Steel clearly possessed vast power, and his father and Stannis Baratheon had planned to test them against the Pirates of the Stepstones.

And then, there was this Institute, dreaded by even the other Wastelanders, said to teleport armies over great distances, and replace people with their own pawns-slaves made out of metal rather than flesh-unthinkable things like something out of children's stories, yet far more terrifying and real. All these things, and a harsh winter to follow. It felt as if the world were soon to end.

A deal would have to be made somehow, or else Westeros would no longer be the domain of House Baratheon, or perhaps any house at all. And the gods alone know what Cersei's up to, he thought. The last time he had seen her, she was still a wreck from what she had seen from that green monster Strong, ranting about wiping out everything in Boston and stealing their technology to destroy all their enemies. Drunken nonsense, he thought of it, before she slapped him hard enough for his cheek to run red for days. Whispering into her bastard's ear, the kingdom would truly be in dire straits if and when Robert perished. Given how someone had attempted to kill him in Winterfell, this couldn't be far away.

But those things were far off now, in time and in place. And he needed to rest now more than anything else. As the sun disappeared from the horizon, he closed his eyes, thinking of home, and of his childhood. He slept.

That night, he dreamed of dragons again. Once the great sword of the Targaryen dynasty, they seemed to have died from the world nearly two hundred years ago, he knew. And yet after all that had happened, who knows what would be next?

In this dream, he was riding a pale, almost white dragon like Quicksilver or Vhagar of the old times, riding through the clouds, above even the birds. In a great rush, he descended, and saw legions of his enemies. Among them were the cook who had scolded him, and all those who had mocked him for his height over the years. Prudes like Stannis or the High Septon who denounced his whoring. The young Greyjoy boy for insulting him at Winterfell. No matter how petty, he was settling scores here.

At the front were those he feared most. Cersei, Joff, his father, his father's mad dog, the mutant Strong, and that weasel Petyr Baelish. In his dreams, he laughed as they all burned under his dragon fire. Like Aegon the Conqueror, he felt invincible. As he looked around, he found he was not alone either. Two more dragons flew around at his sides, and the metal vehicles wielded by the Brotherhood were hovering around too, seeming to attack him one moment and attack the horde the other. What he noticed most of all was the hands attached to his waist, gripping him as he went down. He didn't need to turn to figure out who this would be.

But soon, the visions clouded. A woman with golden hair appeared as an outline through this fog, seeming to be sobbing. Tyrion realised he was alone, and wishing to find this woman, started to wonder through this thick fog. No matter how much closer he tried to be, he never seemed to get any closer. Her sobbing did grow in volume though, no matter what he did. Soon, she faded away entirely, and the fog darkened, until he could see nothing.

He woke. The night was cool to the point of almost being cold. He shivered, and tucked back into his pillow. The distant chirping of crickets could be heard to the west, and to the east, some lights were on in the great attractions. _What could be so attractive about that place?_ He couldn't comprehend why people as sadistic and cruel as raiders would enjoy such a place. Even the sellswords and pirates had some unifying code or ethic to work with, so the raider's state was surely confusing.

He tried to sleep again, but he saw some torch light from a distance. These ones were no Wastelanders with such technology. Someone else had gained their way into these lands? There was only one way to find out.

He got up from his bed and walked over, not caring he was in his bedclothes at this point. They could hold some vital information about reinforcements, for all he knew. As he moved closer, he noticed five guards, two of whom were armed gunners and an unarmed man in purple robes in the middle, with a mask over his head. They waited patiently as Tyrion waddled up. Tyrion thought he noticed a couple of children there too. Now he noticed that one of the other guards was a raider with a sigil of a heart surrounded by an iron sight. The man in purple awaited him. Finally, his waddling had got him to them, all three hundred yards out from the camp.

The man spoke. "Tyrion Lannister, you've been a very hard man to track recently. I and my clients certainly wish to-" Tyrion didn't need to hear more.

"Cut the charade, Varys! I've known your voice and your manners for years in King's Landing. I'm not like the rest of my family- I see through the petty schemes just as you can." The guards pointed their weapons, as if threatening.

He lifted up his hood and removed the mask from his mouth. "Lower." The soldier's weapons all went down, almost in uniform to one another. "So, it seems you're more perceptive than I thought you would be. Has your time here been informative? It has even for me. So many lessons, so many new things, and so many secrets yet to be uncovered. Information is never not of use, after all. In a new world, it is doubly so." Even in a nuclear wasteland full of monsters, the spider continues to crawl out from under the rubble and find new prey, it seems.

"How did you get into these lands without the use of the monorail? And how exactly did you find out where I was located?" Tyrion was genuinely bitter, and wished he had more than his bedclothes to extract information. He turned and saw Janice was one of the children Varys had among him. He asked her now. "What were you doing with him? You're no bird!"

She shook her head. "They wanted to be friends with me. They told me that a dwarf and a man were heading towards the camp and that I should tell them. You are a nice man, as Mommy would say, so I wanted the 'Spider' to help you. Honestly, mr. They said they'd find a new place for Mommy and Daddy too, so I couldn't refuse."

Varys turned. "You see there? They'll be happier under my guidance than they could under those delusional zealots. They will help you for now, but who knows for how much longer? For all the drawbacks us Westerosi have in technology, we have many other things that set us above them." He sighed.

"As for how, information, as I've said, is a valuable thing. It can spread fast depending on where you go. Do you really think you and your family were the first in Westeros to hear about 'Nuka World'? Some methods of communication travel faster than others, by days or even a week or more, mind you. Never underestimate what good coin and skill-fully built webs can achieve. That and a few pulled strings too.. Getting there was harder through the mountains of course, but nothing we weren't capable of, nor was hiring some local protection." All of these were certainly familiar concepts to Tyrion, and seeing Varys act upon them was not too surprising.

"So, why are you here? And after me specifically?" He asked. Such a journey couldn't exactly have been cheap. "I doubt it's just for an exploration and a farewell in case I don't make it back."

The Spider raised an eyebrow. "How perceptive of you there." He let out a little laugh, and one of the guards joined in. "Indeed, I wasn't just checking up on you here. These new circumstances have thrown many plans out of synchronisation, my own particularly, but adaptions are not impossible to make. The Realm needs to benefit from whatever outcome arrives in this situation, and it is my duty to ensure that things don't become...too uncontrollable by such a point, to make sure that this 'Great Event' doesn't do irreversible damage to the land and let the realm fall into chaos. We both know there are those who would certainly relish such opportunities, regardless of how many innocents have to die. Some of them new to us, and some of them old. We must ensure that the right people can respond to these situations and that the right person can sit the throne and guide the Realm to safety. That is my mission, and someday I hope to make it yours as well. I feel you shall play a great role in the war to come, one that cannot be missed."

Tyrion knew that Varys was using riddles to confuse him and prevent him from knowing his plans. As sharp as Tyrion was, Varys was even sharper. All he could gather was that he wanted to have the 'right' person on the Iron Throne who would minimise the damage the Wasteland was doing, and perhaps bring unity to a fractured realm. "I agree, war is almost certainly on the way. But do you really think your old plans will remain intact through this situation? I seriously doubt it will. What little may constitute my own have been torn to shreds within recent memory; I doubt even yours or Petyr's will turn out any differently. And besides, Robert Baratheon still sits on the Iron Throne, regardless of what others think of that. I would say you are wasting your time at the moment." He thought this would put the eunuch down.

"Don't be so naive, my lord. Dangers arise on this land and from the west and the east. No matter what anyone does, lives will be lost. What you can do is make sure as few lives as possible are lost before it's too late. One doesn't need genuine power for the people to rally behind them; they merely need men to believe they are powerful. You don't need to be loved by the people, Lord Tyrion. What you need is to be respected for what you are. And that is exactly what you shall be. When the time comes, I will be waiting, and the plan can be set into motion. Farewell." He put on his hood, gestured to his guards and they walked on away from the camp. Tyrion stood dumbfounded. _What could he mean,_ he thought.

What had at first made him worried now made him more confused than ever. He went back into his bed, trying the best he could to get a bit of good night's sleep. It was the best he could do.


	34. Victarion (III)

As he ran through radioactive forests, near those where he had encountered the Mother for the first time, Victarion ran in pursuit of his foe. His armour may have slowed him down, as did the thick leaves and undergrowth beneath him, but his willpower drove him forward faster than any of those unnatural 'Chems' he had found some of his men using. As he passed each blackened tree in pursuit of his quarry, he felt the rushes of Atom propelling him forward. The rest of his men would need to go through their own initiation rituals to get into the Children, as highborn, he was granted the privilege to be the first to gain full membership.

The heretic ran as fast as she could through the forest, hectically trying to find a weapon she could try and use to fight against him. He had swatted the "laser" out of her hand before she could blast him in the head with its red lightning, and stamped it with his boot. Now, she was running from his axe.

He had found her in an old 'chapel', but before he could deal with her directly, he found himself under attack from wolves of both normal varieties and these glowing ones, a strange sight to behold. Perhaps the heretic had summoned them with her dark magic powers to ward him off? He figured that out if she was similar to any of the Essosi magicians, that she would possess such power over animals.

For this attempt on his life, and her bizarre beliefs, he could not let her leave the island alive. She preached at him for a time about the great 'nothingness' from which everything was made. But how could nothing make something, let along everything? She was the maddest person he had ever come into contact with, and madness like that could not be reasoned with. Now her time of falsity would come to an end. Perhaps Atom would still allow her to bring about Division, even in her treachery?

Perhaps she could have made a good salt-wife at home, were she to renounce her heretical ways. The goods and technology found here would bring light to his brethren, and whatever was inside the Nucleus this "Deema" referred to would surely be of great magnitude. With Atom's blessing and the Children's technology, surely Balon would see the superiority of this life to the Old Way of the Drowned God. And even if he didn't, than surely two gods together united against the Storm God would be a superior blessing? Victarion couldn't see why not, even if Aeron would look down on him till the mountains blew away like leaves for it.

She pleaded for her life, claiming that the great nothing in between atoms would keep her safer than could Atom. He had seen Atom's influence first hand; something that could never be said for either the Drowned God he had been raised under or this 'nothingness' she spoke of.

The time he and his remaining soldiers had spent with the Children of Atom revealed many things to him. The Mother's role as Atom's divine messenger was taught to him by Richter, who had shared a similar past of fighting for a lost cause. Upon their joining into Atom's ranks, Victarion organised a second drowning in the radioactive waters of the pool inside the Nucleus. Some of his men did not make it, but they would now face bliss in this 'Division' that the High Confessor spoke of. Their deaths would not be for nothing. This heretic could not say the same. Once this matter was done with, Lord Botley and his bastard would join into Atom's Glory. Once some of the lords of the Iron Islands bent, it would surely be an easy process for Atom's chosen to spread through his homeland, and his family. But now was not the time to think. Now was the time to kill!

She finally tripped over a bit of wood, and now he could take his chance. "You have commited crimes against the One True God, Atom; of hearsay-"

"Heresy." She said like a mother would say to an ignorant child.

"Yes, that..." He hesitated. "You have betrayed him and your High Confessor, and you have betrayed me, your rightful lord, and that under all laws is treason. For that, I Victarion Greyjoy, Commander of the Iron Fleet and rightful Lord of Far Harbour, sentence you to die." He lifted his axe to deliver the blow. The look of fear in her eyes widened even further as he prepared to swing.

A great screech came, shaking the ground, and taking him off guard. He turned around, and he could hear the woman running behind him. It appeared to be a fog crawler! The type of creatures Old Longfellow had warned him about!

This one had black armour, glistening at the sides, with mucus at the sides suggesting a recent moulting. This supposedly meant it was one of the weaker crawlers, and a young one at that. Even so, it seemed a vicious sight, standing taller than Victarion himself, at least seven feet tall and ten feet long. It's claws were sharp as daggers, and as long as swords, while the armour seemed thicker than any shield. The head was even shaped like a sheild, yet with the strangest eyes staring at him from underneath. Even the tail was barbed with blades and would easily bring grevious harm on anyone who fell afoul of it. It was a truly fearsome sight! But he would not die cowering under a rock. He was Ironborn! And he would pay the Iron Price against this beast!

"Come at me, beast!" He raged as he charged with axe in hand towards the monster, who's eyes seemed to flash many colours at once, and had no pupils like a human eye. It was as if the eye was many eyes and one at once. _A thousand eyes and one,_ he vaguely remembered his maester teach him about some forgotten dragon-bastard. This was no place for lessons, but for death!

He swung his great weapon at the beast, managing to get into the joints between the armour, and penetrating several inches deep. It screeched, and using the back of its hand, swiped Victarion back with great force, sending him several feet back onto the ground, almost dropping his axe. Bleeding, the beast paced up to him rapidly, galloping as if like a horse and aiming for another swing. Vic put his axe as to block the upcoming blow, but even his most agile moves were outmatched by the beast.

Its eyes must have granted it some kind of great perception to which even the smartest of men lacked. _It's as if its reading my mind_ , he thought. _This abomination needs to die! Surely it could not be Atom's will for such monsters to live!_ He noticed that even his metal shaft was breaking under the pressure of a crawler's blow. It's shield like head would not have been good to strike, as it was even more heavily armoured than the rest. He tried to duck under the claws, but one struck his helmet, and himself.

"Aaaah!" He cried as the crunch of claw on metal struck him, and a crack of bone could be heard too.

He was sent flying to the ground once more, this time with his axe out of his hand. He could feel blood running from inside his helmet, and no small amount either. Even his thick plated helmet could not help him now! He could not possibly die a coward, his honour demanded it. But he did not wish to die at all either, and this opponent was far from weak. As he attempted to grab the axe again, a firm kick came to his chest, rolling him over on his back. The creature stood over him and arched it claws down his way, as if to stab him to death like a man on the battlefield. _Even this creature has honour it seems!_ He winced as he thought the creature prepared his death. His instincts took hold.

He rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding the claws which went through the ground itself, with even the spare gauntlet he had brought being penetrated by the blow. His supplies could be counted as lost now. But now he was under somewhere better. The beast's soft belly. And he still had his dagger! He reached into his holster, and lunged with all his might.

Another, more excruciating screech came this time, and he felt yellow blood pouring down on his hand. He had penetrated the beast's hide! For a moment, he felt like the Grey King taking on Nagga in the Age of Heroes, a legendary warrior. But he remembered that this was a young crawler at best, and nowhere near the power of some of the others dwelling on the island. As he wrenched the dagger free once more, more blood came out, and he rolled outwards back to open ground.

As it limped out from its spot, it screamed at him and lunged once again. He would not allow the monster victory! Using its scythes, it knocked the axe out of his hand again! He kept out of the way to retrieve. But it had not merely ducked it away from his grip, but broken it in half! For the first time in a long time, he felt true fear for his life. The beast prepared to strike again, however painfully it would be to both. His head ached as though worms were burrowing it, and as he tried to swing at the beast again, he felt as though he could scarcely reach it, let alone damage it. Another back-hand from the creature, and he barely managed to keep on his feet, taking several steps backward instead.

He saw a bolt go into one of its ever moving eyes, and it screamed once more, thrashing around and elbowing Victarion to the ground. He turned and saw that Wulfe and the other 'Atomborn' had come to his aid! Many used normal reaver weapons, but some wielded small guns that shot waves at their opponent, which seemed to weaken it more. It seemed his men were adapting to Far Harbour more than he would have liked.

Guns had their uses for situations, particularly in a desperate one like this, but it was a craven's thing to do to rely on them completely. No true Ironborn would do such a thing. Some of the Old Way would need to be retained, or else the Ironborn culture would be lost forever. Compromise was what must be delivered. But now was not the time to think about society. Now was the time to kill!

He swung at the great beast again, the dagger catching it between the joints and unleashing more blood. One of his men threw something at him. It was a sword, albeit one with some modifications done to it. At last, a weapon he had genuine experience with again! It had pointy bits on its side, like a saw, and some kind of battery attached like the ones he had seen in the odd robot dwelling on the island. He struck the beast again, only this would went much deeper, and sparks seemed to fly out of it.

Even this fog-crawler seemed less powerful when dealing with a proper weapon. Finally, the animal's throat was exposed. He charged and roared, as he dug the blade into the creature's throat-armour, penetrating even the thick layer, and spewing out blood rapidly.

He withdrew it and now the blood spurted in his face, some going in his eye, with him spitting it back at the beast and roaring in triumph, jumping out of the way as it flailed its arms around, hoping to hit something. Its magic eyes couldn't protect it now! He wiped the blood out of his eye, clutching his head as he tried to remove his helmet. But it was stuck on his head now!

He looked on the monster that delivered this deformity, and its twiches were growing weaker and weaker, until finally it ceased. During this, he picked up the halves of his axe and staggered nearer to his men.

His men didn't need to know this was merely a young weakling of its kind. They had killed a fog-crawler! Old Longfellow would surely respect him now, and Asha would see how much he had adapted to life on the island. He heard his men cheer of their new victory.

"Now, my reavers." He took out the eyes of the beast and put them into a satchel. "This is the first of our many kills to be of the monsters that roam these islands! They are creatures that truly put anything we see in Essos and Sothyros to shame, and yet here they are for us to fight and test ourselves against." Now he pushed his hand into the wound of the dying creature and pulled out its heart. It finally lay still quickly afterwards. And now he held up the green organ to the sky. "This is the sign of our victory over nature. This is a sign of our status as lords of this island. This is the sign of our new life in Atom!"

They cheered, and Wolf howled with excitement like his namesake. "For he has made a way for us on this island. Rather than trying to listen to the cravens on Far Harbour, and their talk of peace and harmony, or those abominable synths in Arcadia, we can populate the island with our men under my lordship, and give the rest of the Ironborn an example to follow! My brother will see the errors of his ways too, and when the time comes, the Ironborn will be more free than ever before!" The men raised their fists and charged forward. He stopped them with his hand.

"But first, you shall help me find and kill the heretic who I was tracking. Then we shall be accepted into Atom's fold officially and begin the path that He has set for us through his High Confessor. This is just the beginning, for soon, this island and its secrets shall be ours, and none will stand in our way then!"

The men cheered him on and gathered round him to congratulate him for his victory. It was true though, he still needed to bring the heretic's head to Richter, and gain an audience with Tektus himself. Then, he could finally prove to his religious head what role the Ironborn would have in Atom's great plan.

"I'd say she went..." He pointed his arm the opposite way to where he fought the crawler. "...in that direction." The others turned that way.

"You mean east, milord?" Harald Redeye pointed out. Though a mere smallfolk, he had managed to climb the ranks in Victarion's Iron Victory quite quickly over the last few weeks in the Harbour, replacing those that died. It seemed he had a compass on him.

"Yes...east. To there we shall go." He and his men fetched their gear and started to trek once more, pushing their way through the forests, shooing away the small hairless rabbits that stood in their way. He saw one of his men grab one by the nape of the neck and throw it into a cage. It would serve as food certainly, for the lack of pelts reduced their value. They would certainly need the meat for the journey.

To go through the fat-Tory with only a dozen or so men would be a death sentence, Victarion figured. The green men were a force to be reckoned with even in small numbers, never mind the dozens that seemed to dwell there. Red-Eye's binoculars purchased in Far Harbour during a visit there exposed some of the positions of the creatures. But at least they were far away. Just to be sure, they kept to the high grounds above. Better to risk some wolves, ghouls or the odd bear than the wrath of the green ones or the vicious mirelurks of the water. Trappers were also a possibility, but Vic couldn't think of any other threats in these highlands.

Then he saw them in the trees. They looked like giant black pears from the Reach, but it seemed not. They were bumpy and rough looking. Varying sizes, some were as short as a dog, others longer than a green-man. All seemed to make some sort of noise, as if they were snoring. Slime poured down from them like moisture. _Moisture!_ They seemed vaguely familiar, but he could not put afinger on it. Something didn't seem right.

Ragnar laughed at te hanging things above. "Ha. It's as if there's giant fruit to pluck here! We've struck gold!" Those around him celebrated too. "That'll keep us fed for days! Imagine what the folks back home will say! We'll be rich!" Victarion's instincts gave him an incoming sense of dread, but the men continued in regardless.

A reaver of a meagre fifteen got out his crossbow. "Let's get one down for us to eat!"

Victarion minded the boy. "What by the Drowned God's beard do you think you're doing?" He no longer felt he had blasphemed the God of his ancestors, being sold into the glow. "You will not cut down that...thing!" He became more and more uneasy as he saw what looked like a cat's claw protruding from one of the drops.

"We've not had anything to eat for two days, milord! We need something to have." Some men cheered, but Wulfe and Ragnar shared their captains suspicion. The Ironborn dominated the seas, but they struggled greatly on land. And even more so in the Wasteland. The foolish boy aimed his crossbow up. He opened his mouth and lifted his sword to stop, but he was too slow. The head injury must have slowed him down.

A quick click came, and the bolt was free. It headed vertically upwards from the boy up to the branch. Victarion felt as if time was slowing down, and he was powerless to stop the outcome. The bolt jammed itself in the flesh of the object, and it shifted. The bolt had struck the clawed arm of the beast. It screeched and its mouth opened wide, dropping towards the boy. It landed right on top of him and ravaged the fool in a flurry of claw, leather and blood. Vic knew.

"Gulpers! Fight!"

The other shapes dropped down and attacked the other men. There must have been five on this tree alone, and two more in a tree nearby. This wasn't good!

He looked around and saw the bones of men. A number, though not all were holding familiar weapons and armour. These must have been where the other Ironborn squadrons disappeared as well! Even a people as ferocious as the Ironborn found this wasteland untameable! Atom protect him!

With only his electrified sword to protect him, Victarion swung at the enemy. The swords points made stabbing hard and tearing, not impaling prey but causing gaping wounds, which was not what he wanted now. A dog sized spawn attached himself to his leg, reaching a wound felt by the fogcrawler. He howled and jammed the sword into the beast's face, ending it quickly. A bigger one chirped at him and headed his way, but Wulfe jumped on its back. It thrashed around trying to claw him off, with one inch long claws lacerating his legs as a result. He too howled in pain.

Victarion was conflicted. His men were fighting or dying around him, and some turned craven. He would deal with them later. If there was a later. But the creatures seemed to be winning. He had fought more with Asha at Far Harbour, but then there were many more Ironborn with them then, plus the town's own army. These creatures had the element of surprise now too.

Two of the monsters, the largest to match himself, now surrounded him. Wulfe's attempts to slow done the first merely delayed the inevitable, as he was thrown off to the ground near a tree trunk, legs bloodied. Asha was not here to save him now, and there was no way Balon or Aeron would know of his demise to do anything about it, if they could at all. The two cornered him against another tree trunk. Yet more seemed to emerge from the bushes, ambushing more of his men. Given the dead, they were outnumbered as well as outmatched. It seemed as his death and that of his closest crew was to come today.

An explosion came. The head of the injured gulper was blown apart as if hit with a catapult. The other turned away, and soon it too was ravaged. A third one that hadn't attacked him was now bombarded with fire as well. A rescuer had made their way here! The other Gulpers turned to investigate the threat. A green blur came and rescued one of his men from the jaws of death, trapping it in its own jaws. The creature was like some green perversion of a dog or lion- as big as a bear, but with a much larger head, something the giant salamanders couldn't compete with.

"Good girl! Attack!" Te voice of the one with the gun cried out. It was unnaturally low and sounded like rocks being cracked. He seemed to have a bear's head and a green-man's body, as he threw his opponents around and shot at them, protecting Vic and his men. It seemed he could command these freakish dogs at will.

A smaller gulper tried to ambush him, and yet as fast as lightening, it too was disposed of. He grabbed it, held it against a nearby rock and broke its back with both arms, as if it was nothing. The figure towered over anyone else present, and must have been at least eight feet tall, possibly more. He gathered out his gun again and fire another round. Ragnar flipped out of the way as an explosion tore through the gulper ranks and splintered wood all over the place. Victarion could feel the odd splinter in his cheeks, but it was a relief compared to what he feared he would get from the battle.

Finally, the savage gulpers were drawn back and went into retreat. He and his men came to congratulate the newcomer. Victarion looked and saw the figure was not as abominable as he had thought. It did not have a bear's head and a Giants body as he first thought, but was an unusually dressed green man!A green man helping them out seemed unthinkable given how hostile the others were. But it was better for one to be an ally than none.

"We are in your debt, green man! We certainly would have fallen victim there and would never have fulfilled our quest. We thank you." Victarion was rarely so generous, but desperate times called for a desperate reaction.

"It's no problem, strangers." The figure said. "The name's Erickson, and I'm a trader around here normally. I'm no murderer like the rest of my kin. I just deal with whoever needs dealing, and would much prefer some peace. I sell weapons, supplies and pets, especially dogs, since they're 'man's best friend' and all that." He looked around at Victarion and the few survivors. "You certainly look different to any of the group's locally. Where do you come from, originally?"

"Well," Vic started. We come from the Iron Islands to the west, and are claiming this island as our territory, as the seas around it certainly are. It's proven very different to what we thought though. I'm Victarion, commander of the Iron Fleet, Captain of the Iron Victory, initiate of Atom and future Lord of the Island. For I have many titles." He certainly wished to boast, even if his lordship was a very near affair.

The bear-headed man seemed intrigued at the talk of Iron Islands and such, but he seemed to brush it off as soon as Vic finished the monologue. "Glad I saved you in time then, or else you wouldn't be Lord of anything!" The great beast growled out like the bear he wore as a hat. "Seems like you're adapting to the locals well; fighting creatures, converting to a cult, using a weapon or two." He eyed up the radiation gun one of the men was pointing at him. "Don't bother by the way. We supermutants are immune to radiation and disease, so you'd just be wasting our time. Plus I've spent years surviving out here, I can handle a lot."

The soldier grunted and put his weapon away. "Good. I'd prefer it if we could get along nice and peacefully. I don't care if you're human, mutant, ghoul, synth, outsider, whatever; I just want to trade and to keep things peaceful. If you guys are here to restore order to the islands, then I can't complain. In fact, I'd be happy to tag along, I'd need be. All I need help with is moving some sources over. Then I'll help you find what you need. I'm a great tracker after all." He turned to his giant hound. "And she's even more so." He chuckled.

Victarion's head roared like the ground itself shook, like something was tearing into him. He refused to cry out for fear of weakness around his men, and fell to his knees.

"Alright. Can't say I expected that kind of humility, I'll be honest. Can't harm though. What I need help with us moving things back to my base that are too heavy to take in one trip. A few extra hands would be great. Bit of 'You scratch my back and I scratch yours, you know what I'm saying?" The offer certainly is tempting, Victarion thought as he regained himself. "You'll get a discount on my things as well." Oh now he really wants it!

"I accept." Victarion's words quelled any dissent among the surviving Ironborn, and they organised in formation, however ill they seemed. Vic turned around and saw an earlier trail of blood had been made.

Some pieces of fabric were torn on the ground, and the corpse of another gulper that he noticed was there before they arrived. If only the foolish boy had seen these warnings! The fabrics, and the trail made Vic presume this was the heretic who had gotten away. She must have headed east and survived a small attack there. This was perfect for him! Now it was time to mobilise.

As they headed east, the forest became thicker, too thick for gulpers to move through. Here, only the strange radstags and the hairless rabbits were a common sight. There did seem to be bears in these parts, if the footprints were any implication, but Victarion knew better than to tempt them. There were once twenty three in his crew, but now only eleven remained, and Wulfe needed stilts to walk even slowly.

"Watch out. There's a Yao gui nearby. The footprints tell us that." Vic stopped in his tracks. As did some others.

"You what?" One of his men said. "All I see in those tracks is one of those hairless bears that walk around. At least none of those gulpers are around, or that Fogcrawler! Can't wait to tell me salt wives about that!"

Erickson shook his head. "Those are Yao-guis you just described there! So the bears on your mainland have plenty of fur on them? That must be a strange sight. Your have to show me the other lands sometime. Never been off the island before I was turned, never mind before the green lights flashed and everything changed. It'd be great to see all the world has to offer without all that radiation around. My dogs would love somewhere to walk and hunt, too." They trekked on.

Suddenly, Erickson froze in his tracks. He put a hand up in gesture and the others were stopped in their tracks too. Something was up ahead, that was sure to be seen. They crouched down as they saw the opponent.

It was a bear, or "Yao-gui" as Erickson called it. And it was the biggest Victarion had ever seen. It must have stood about nine or even ten feet tall on its hind legs. Not only that, but it was bald and was glowing green! He could feel his skin pricks as the radioactive flow of Atom burst forth from the creature by the seconds. Atom had anointed this creature, and Vic would not sacrilege by trying to butcher it. It sniffed through the leaf litter searching for some food. The crunch of leaves must have masked the scent of the Ironborn from the beast, or perhaps Atom was intervening again. Vic could see more blood from the heretic present as he carried on.

The bear moved on now, and it seemed was no longer the threat it was. Vic and his men continued on. Erickson gestured towards a collection of supplies. Some metal 'turrets' like those in Far Harbour seemed to surround them, with the corpses of trappers around, showing htere had been some form of attack. The bear-headed green-man pointed over and the reavers started picking up supplies and carrying them. Vic picked up a bag himself. The bag was well sewn and was sturdy enough to hold a significant amount of weight. Perhaps six or seven stones' worth.

This one seemed to be full of weapons; guns, knives, wooden weapons, the odd harpoon cannon like the one Asha now carried, and other things he could not recognise. Vic's superior size and strength allowed him to carry this pack on his own back, without the aid of another Ironborn to help him. As he heaved it onto his back, it seemed heavy but was really manageable in and of itself; even Erickson seemed surprised at Victarion's strength here.

"Now we can continue. Once we get there, you help us some more." Erickson reluctantly nodded and they continued on.

As he went over to the edge of a ravine, Vic saw the remains of some kind of sky ship that was in the middle of the forest, cleared out and visible even from three or four miles away. It must have been Erickson's base! It was past the fat-tory inhabited by the monstrous green men, which stood in between them. He would need to plunder the area to see if there were any supplies. He was rightful lord of this land, and he would need to make it his if he were to rule it. For that, there needed to be loyalty.

As his group followed the tracks of the heretic, Victarion noticed the still beauty to be seen in the fog. It was no natural fog, true, but it had a hypnotic tranquility to it. It was a shame that it's followers, the trappers were so hostile to him- only a few could see reason- most were too mad to align with. A shame, for their numbers and ferocity gave even the most pious Ironborn a run for their money. As reavers, they would be unchallenged at sea.

An open plain awaited them, dominated by a bizarre sight. A bright light shone on a giant square, showing images like some kind of painting, yet moving as if alive. A crowd of some sort gathered around it, surrounded by a building and strange metal structures. Victarion knew he had to investigate such a strange sight, even if it delayed his mission. Who knows what could be learned here, after all?

He shushed his soldiers as they approached the target, with them going into a stealthy mode as he supposed. The occupants looking at the screen were clearly ghouls that he had seen before. The forsaken of Atom, their life was truly retched, forced to live as animistic monsters for the rest of their days. Vic was glad he didn't have such a fate. A few of his men had ghoulified from their exposure to the well, and he had to put them down before they turned feral.

"Go and see how they are." He requested his men to test the ghouls' motor abilities to see if they were truly dumbfounded by what was on the screen. The metal vessels around the park were left alone by the ghouls, he noticed. Perhaps something there made them wary? The first ghoul he saw wore the tattered ruins of denim suspenders and some shirt that was blue and without buttons.

It was clearly a man of fourteen, if not younger. Old enough to father offspring, he figured. He nudged it in the arm, and no reaction was given. This time, he punched it with his steel gauntlets, and all it gave was a grunt, gently breathing like it was asleep. Finally, he took his dagger and jammed it into the throat of the creature. Only now did it flail around and collapse, but even then it's eyes were focused on the screen. Victarion looked to see what all the fuss was about.

The man on the screen was surrounded by fine women, and seemed to protect them from a man in strange gear holding a small gun. There was no noise coming from his mouth as he spoke though. Then suddenly, it changed and writing came up on the screen. It was if he couldn't speak and the text explained what was being said. He figured this must have been some kind of entertainment for those who once lived on the island before this 'Great War' the Wastelanders spoke of.

The Grand Zealot had told him this was when Atom's blessing extended to the rest of the world. Victarion struggled with all the doctrines that he was hearing of, but he would have plenty more time to learn about them when he got back. First, he would need to bring the island under control.

As he looked around, his men were also watching the film, standing alongside the ghouls. One of the ghouls wondered off, as if hungry to find new prey. It seemed oblivious of those watching, as if it retained some vague semblance of manhood and respected their right to be entertained. At least the men were safe, he thought.

As he looked around, Vic saw what looked like a leg popping out from the side of one of the vehicles- clearly still attached to the body by the posture and the fact it still moved from time to time. _Could it be her,_ he thought. He took a deep breath and paced over.

The terrain was flat yet gravelly, a sign of an unnatural road that once was set here before this 'Great War'. As he paced towards, he saw something strange in one of the vehicles nearby. A ghoul wondered close to the back of one of these vehicles, and yet it soon seemed as if it was snatched inside, like something out of a child's nightmare. He tried to ignore this as best he could, but the fears remained. He went over to see the person.

It was the heretic all along! She lay heavily bled from the wounds from the gulpers, hardly able to look up. It seemed she groaned as she even raised her head.

"So...you've come to..." She coughed violently and blood came out. "To...to finish the job, huh?" She laughed. "All this belief in nothingness, an...attempt to...find truth, and it's amounted to nothing. The...sheer irony of it! Isn't it...funny...how that...thing...works?" It seemed her bleeding was making her lose her grip on reality. If she hadn't been cast out as a heretic, he would surely have helped her back into the community, but this was non negotiable.

Victarion now felt some sympathy. He finally asked. "What is the name you were given?" He knelt down a couple of feet in front of her.

"My...name...is Sister Gwyneth...forsaken to Atom...or whatever the hell's out there. I hope I get something out of all this..." she trailed off once more.

He gathered his sword into hand once more and readied it. "Do you have any last words, Gywneth?"

She raised her head more, groaning. She finally looked him in the eye. "D-d-do it." She lowered it again. He took a deep breath and swung.

When the deed was done, he grabbed her head by her set of greasy black hair and put it in a bag. He heard a voice. "I'll be damned! That's some pretty dark stuff you folks are into here! A bit old fashioned if I say so myself." It was Erickson, who clearly had seen what was happening from a distance. "That the person you were after? She didn't look much of a threat."

Vic sighed. "Perhaps not, but only because she had been mauled by gulpers before hand. She was no physical threat true, but she was a threat to the way of life Atom prepared for his followers, for converts old and new, with ones such as myself being new. We couldn't afford the risk to our faith." Erickson seemed to roll his eyes, but Vic tried to ignore this.

"I presume they got a reward of some kind of you once we sort out my supplies? I hope it's worth it." Erickson certainly didn't seem a fan of this.

"Certainly, yes." He had seen glimpses from the Grand Zealot of "Atom's Judgement", the great and strange war-hammer that locals called a 'super-sledge', that was blessed with Atom's powers of radiation. His favourite weapon was his great axe, which was now broken. But perhaps a compromise could be reached...

He looked ahead and surveyed the island. It would be his realm to rule soon. He would build a castle on the top of the hill, linked to Far Harbour, which would be flooded with migrants and form the Ironborn's first city! The trading of mirelurks and other such creatures would make the islands richer, and the Ironborn and House Greyjoy would be feared again! And who knows what the secrets of the Nucleus would reveal to him! Only time would tell.


	35. The Sole Survivor (III)

The sight of the Commonwealth was once again a glamour in Nathan's eyes. As he and the Royal escort moved towards the stream around the centre, a relatively safe area in the northern wasteland, they took a break from their walk. As he breathed in the mildly radioactive air, he once again got a feeling of the home he had missed. For despite all the dangers of the land, it was a place, where once, he had been happy; where he had made his home.

Dogmeat returned to his side again. He lent down a hand from his horse and tried to reach him. "Good boy, you've done really well on the trek!" He reared on his hind legs, panting so he could reach Nathan's hand. As he reached down, he could feel the course, but shaggy fur of his canine friend, whom he met outside the Red Rocket ruins. Whoever owned him first must have loved him deeply, and rightly so.

A bump came in the road down. He buckled in his step, and to stop himself falling, he hauled himself up. "Sorry boy, gotta ride." He said this as he reigned in his horse to go forward. Dogmeat whimpered, but soon he too was running ahead. He seemed to be afraid of the rapidly growing Direwolves, and so kept his distance.

He looked around at those behind him, catching up on their steeds, discussing matters of the realm, or the weather or boasting on how many women they had bedded, or something along those lines. Some things simply don't change. He heard the name 'Jon' being mentioned, presumably referring to Ned's illegitimate son, one of his men now. Further back, he saw the carriage full of the royal children, as well as Lord Stark's daughters and their friends. One of the guards, an older man with long white hair and a thick beard, riding an equally white stallion next to his own mare, rode up next to him and turned. Nathan remained focused on the road, not noticing the man's finer features.

"So, General Green, these are the lands you and your people speak of? They don't seem too much so far, bar the strange creatures that are so common creature." The two slowed down.

"That's because I've taken you through the safer areas of the Wasteland. Avoided the radiation zones, the nests, the raider hideouts and all them. Not with risking the King of Westeros and his Hand after all, among all the others." It was true. If something were to happen to YT escort with all the important people in it, Westeros would fall into chaos, and any hope of coexistence would die with them.

"Good to know you have all our best interests in mind. Better than one of a different mindset might." Nathan turned to the man. He must have been Barristan Selmy, Lord commander of the Kingsguard, and one of the most formidable knights of the continent even on his age. His age must have gave him great wisdom too. Even so, the tradition of knighthood would be doomed in a world without guns, especially once people saw the self-righteous attitude of the Brotherhood was too doomed to progress.

They got up to the coasts around Poseidon Energy Turbine, a location his men had cleared of ghouls four days back according to Intel. Preston stated to him on the radio that Ned's bastard was present at the battle and was distinguishing himself. Here it seemed that boats were already being build by local Westerosi, taking advantage of their wood and resources.

The boat was a schizophrenic mess of one. It was clear most of those building it were Westerosi migrants from Greywater Watch or from the city of Whiteharbour, hired by nearby lords for the job for building wooden ships. There were sails, wooden planks and a man steering the front, all familiar to the Westerosi way of building wooden ships.

Yet there was a Wastelander touch to it too, with metal patches in the hulls, like some eighteenth century pirate ship, satellites for radio signals and binoculars around the top's hulls, and most of all, several small propellers at the back, salvaged from other dead ships. This boat hardly looked as if it could float, let alone stand. Then again, it was not the Minuteman's stronghold. They weren't the Brotherhood after all. It was no cruise ship, but it was better than nothing, certainly.

"That's what we'll be going down the river in? Buggar me sideways!" The King slapped his leg and laughed. Ned Stark, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North followed him closely.

Ned wasn't pleased with this display of ingratitude "It's better to be grateful for this your grace. Nathan and his men put great effort making this boat from scratch, with help from-" he was cut.

"Others take your generosity, Ned. They're getting paid for this, and smallfolk will get any job they can get their hands on, even if it involves risking their lives getting eaten by a deathclaw or one of those damned Radscorpions! Seven hells, they'd probably want to see something that interesting!" Nathan would hope to object, but the presence of the Kingsguard made him think that would be a bad idea. "Money makes the world go round, Ned. That and violence! You think I'd be on the throne if it weren't for them?" He sighed, and he cooled down after a few seconds. "Hopefully we'll get there soon at least." Ned too sighed at this. This should be fun, Nathan thought.

Nathan walked up to the boat crew first, with Barristan at his side, ever the curious to investigate and to ensure his King was safe. The man at the newly made docks was worn down, clearly of smallfolk descent, in a job well beyond any he had done before. His sigil clearly was something showing he belonged to some house of the North, and a signicant one at that.

"Welcome, General! I've heard many things about you here!" He was clearly a peasant that was sure. The lower class accent was something he sniggered at as a child watching British stereotypes on the TV, and these seemed quite similar to that. "The name's Tohrren Shipseye; me father's father was named it for the family crafts." He shook hands with the General.

The hands felt grimy as if they had been stuck in seawater and were the sign of a genuine working man. "Only joined with these Minutemen lately meself; I worked in White Harbour as a trader and a captain of vessels throughout the North: know all me ways of the craft! Working with your Wastelanders has taught me a lot more though, that's for sure!" He finally let go of the handshake as a Wastelander crewman looked from below.

He turned to Ser Barristan on his steed. "And the legendary knight himself! It's truly an honour! Heard all sorts of stories about you: slaying Maelys Blackfyre, rescuing the Mad King from Duskendale, and at the Trident. Never thought I'd see the day. What brings you and your friends here?"

Barristan spoke this time. "I and my other white cloaks are here because of our duty in the Kingsguard." He turned around and pointed out his right arm. "Those friends are the Royal Escort; King Robert himself, his family and the new Hand of the King, Eddard Stark. Your 'General' is also a future member of the Small Council, or at least we shall hope. My hope is that in cooperating, we can make the Realm safer, and deal with the threats of both of our worlds in as safe a way as possible."

The captain's face went white. "Oh...t-the-the King himself? And the Royal escort? By the gods! Lord Manderly never told me this! I only bought about eight soldiers and a couple of Minutemen volunteers with me! How can we protect them adequately!"

"We shall work together, that is how." Ned came up as well. "You may not know it, but Lord Manderly has faced attack of White Harbour by some group of savages, and so communication has not been ideal." Nathan was flabbergasted. _Why hadn't I been informed of this?_ He wiped sweat from his brow. "They were repealed with help, but it seems another attack is imminent."

Ned continued. "As your Lord Paramount, it is my duty more than Lord Manderly's to assure the Royal escort is in ideal condition. Our guards, and if necessary, the general and I shall share your burden. You are to keep this 'ship' in motion to our destination and beyond, you shall send guards to look after the children alongside the robot Codsworth and ensure no harm comes to them. You shall also receive adequate compensation for all your efforts, as will your crew. Is that understood?"

The captain 'bent' his knee, not just to Ned, but as the King arrived, in his regal robes he clearly was sweating under. It seemed his skin was less red now and more 'off', if he could put it that way. "Of course milord. And Your Grace. All shall be as you request." He then hurried a short distance to his men, ordering them to do as Ned had commanded. He heard the wirring that could only be Codsworth's motors coming up behind him, with the giggling of children behind.

"I presume the diplomacy has been sorted? I must say I would love to see a full medieval city in all of its glory. A shame we can't visit this 'White Harbour', or at least reinforce it against an attack. Would you care for some wine, sir?" Codsworth always knew when to help.

"I sure could do with one." He stated as he held his hand out, with Codsworth spreading a fully set glass filled with a local red, supposedly from a land called Dorne. He put it to his lips quickly, partly for thirst and partly to calm his nerves. The taste was very strong, both sweet and sour, not like the smoothness that the wines of the Arbor offered. It would have to do though.

As he looked up from his drink, he saw Ned's features harden. "It is not wise to drink so readily at this hour." He had done so at far worse hours in his adventures in the Commonwealth, so why not now when there was no fighting?

"Oh relax." King Robert jested him on. "The amount of times I've drunken myself into stupor in midday is more than I can count. You need it with a job like this!" For all their differences, the King certainly was right.

The captain, Tohrren, was it- came back. "The ship's decks are ready for occupants to travel now. When you are ready!" He smiled, and Nathan took a breath of the vaguely radioactive air in.

Ned stood back and got down from his horse slowly but surely, presenting himself forward my, coin in hand. Nathan, taking it as a sign of respect, soon got down too.

Or at least tried. He slipped in the stirrup and fell on the dirt. He had never ridden horses before the War and getting the hand of them was always a struggle. Some of the crew members laughed. The King too seemed to join in.

"Oh, Mr Green! How terrible of you to fall like that." His robotic companion, last friend from before the Great War noted. "I would offer a hand, but I have none!" _Great help that is,_ Nathan thought.

"I shall offer my hand," Barristan noted, as he got down on his knees to lift him up. Nathan noticed a sharp pain in his ankle. He must have at the very least sprained it as he fell. Perhaps even broken it. His stimpaks were in the carriage, and he hoped that little shit of a prince hadn't played around with them and used them up.

Now, he had to show the other guests onto the ship. The prince scoffed at it, he could hear from a distance, while Ned's daughter fawned over him. The group mobilised as they prepared to take off. A signal went off saying they had twenty five minutes to prepare their things and dock the boat.

It was sunny weather, though Nathan could see bad clouds on their way. They didn't look radioactive ones, so at least he didn't have to worry about that soon. The odd flash made it clear lightning was on the way. No noise came. Not yet, anyway.

The King now followed Ned upwards into the platform. Nathan wished to seem respectful now, or perhaps it was the alcohol getting to him. He put on his formal voice. "Are the conditions to your liking, your grace?" Codsworth would be proud, he thought.

"They shall have to do." The King huffed. At least be grateful, he thought. Ned went through after him now. The Royal children and Ned's daughters followed soon, along with this very tall man with a dog-like helm in hand, and the most hideous scars on one side of his face. He looks like Twoface, Nathan thought. The Hound, for that was what he remembered, grunted at him as he passed. More kingsguard came from the back, escorting the young forward softly.

"Stop it, Arya! We're just having some fun here! You don't know him like I do!" Sansa Stark had the wit of her age, and certainly the naive idealism too. Blinded in infatuation with the prince, she had no idea what she was getting herself into. He and Natalie had come together out of love, not out of mere arrangement, and their feelings ran far deeper than the mere surface. This shallow love he saw before him was not the kind that would lead to a blissful marriage later in life, he thought. Perhaps it was not so different to how the King felt for Ned's dead sister. Leah, was it? He didn't feel like bringing that topic up in conversation though, especially with both men in view.

"You can't love him, surely?" Arya quipped back in response. He could see why she thought this way. "He's too old for you; too snobby, and I bet you he's a liar! And he'll be King one day!" She surely wasn't a fan of the prince either.

"Exactly. I will marry him, have his babies and be his queen. That's what I want more than anything!" She turned to her 'one true love', who just stared and awkwardly smiled back at her.

"Uh...anything for you, my lady." The fact that Joffrey would one day rule the entire continent absolutely, determining its policies, and its dealings with the Wasteland, was a thought not even worth considering. "Now shut your trap and let my lady think as she pleases!" Arya skulked off to go on her own, with her wolf Nymeria in toe. Dogmeat was going down to the opposite side of the ship now, so perhaps Nymeria wished to socialise with him?

The next lot of royal children came through now. These were Myrcella and Tommen, who were much younger than their brother, and seemed much kinder hearted. Tommen held onto a kitten that he had found on the way there. It must have been a stray one.

"I'm going to name him Scruffy! Mother will love him when he gets back!" He boasted as he held the yellow eyed moogie up to her.

"I'm sure we'll have plenty of room in the Red Keep for him" his sister replied. The two giggled and lifted the cat forward, while the two Kingsguard Boris and Meryn followed behind them, both eyeing Nathan up with suspicion. Blount's cold eyes certainly chilled him out. He resisted chuckling at the pun he made in his head, to not look like a fool. A servant, the King's steward, Lancel Lannister passed, carrying the royal breastplate up, in case the King felt the need to wield it somehow in battle. _Not that that's happening_ , Nathan thought. Still, a breastplate could certainly shrug off many smaller fire arms, so perhaps it would be useful after all?

A couple of Kingsguard in conversation were the last to cross the decking. All of the royal escort, the Kingsguard, the Minutemen guards and Codsworth were now present on the ship and accounted for. The captain gave the orders and the ship finally started. They were now on their way to the Castle.

The ship slowly moved at first, but the pace picked up as it moved down the river, away from the north-west opening. Now they head downstream, towards the ruins of the great city. Journeys into this territory were always dangerous, and Nathan knew to be vigilant by now. At least by the waters, enemies could theoretically be caught by surprise. Except for the damned mirelurks.

The hard part came as the weather took a turn for the worse. The rains came quickly, and hardly too. It felt like it was lightly burning as well. Acid rain.

"Anyone got a hood for this thing? The rain burns! It's not safe out here!" He cried out. The children gathered below deck. Shipseye looked around and called out some order that Nathan couldn't hear properly. One of the flags extended down via some mechanical pully system, made of metal. Something of a design like those he did at Sanctuary, in fact. The look on Robert and Ned's faces at the site of their first elevator was truly a sight to behold itself.

The hood came over the ship, protecting the guests from the corrosive rains, and so it was alright for them, even if it made the rain even more noisy than before. He sighed and went down below deck. At least here things might be quieter for a time.

"Well, well, well." The king noted as he sat down in his chambers, prepared with silky beds, curtains draped over it, rich wooden tables, a mirror and an en suite so much better than the shitbucket Westerosi were used to. The lights were lit by candle, as he was growing used too, though he could see the odd discarded lightbulb here and there, which they had clearly attempted and failed to install.

There was even an electric coffee machine salvaged was present in the room, though Nathan had no idea where such a power source could fuel such a device. "This certainly isn't as bad as I had thought. It's actually some of the best I've seen on a ship!" It certainly was. Perhaps the Minutemen involved had looked at pre-war books on cruise ships? The King pointed to his left. "What's that metal thing there?"

"That's...uh, a coffee machine. It boils water, mixes it with coffee beans and allows you to make warm coffee or tea drinks. Coffee was a very popular drink prewar, you see. No idea how they've got it running, or where they're getting their beans from, but that's what it looks like to me." Seriously though, where in the Wasteland are they getting this stuff?

"Well, general..." for a very odd looking member of the Minutemen approached him, with bright yellow hair stylised in a way that reminded him of raiders. "...We get a lot of power from solar panels, like you taught us to back at the Castle! It's proven it's uses, that's certain. Now the King and the Hand have their own coffee to wake themselves up in the morning! Oh and you too of course." She laughed. "Some coffee beans turn out to still be grow-able after all this time. We managed to breed some in non-irradiated soil and the guys at Whiteharbour are loving it already. Business is booming. Guess you could say all that non-irradiated land is granting us many oppurtunities!" First the interbreeding ideas and now this; it was a sure sign of prosperity to come. Or at least he hoped.

The king got a freshly made cup from the kitchen, which the Minutemen had clearly spent some time on. He took a sniff of it, which Nathan himself couldn't resist a bit of. It had been over 200 years since he last had one after all. Perhaps they would have fermented over all those years?

"It's...very different to anything I've known." The King noted. His friend Ned came in. He thanked Torrhen nonverbally and came to see.

"Careful, your grace. It scalds. Don't want to end up like me, do you?" He turned down and showed everyone a stain on his thigh. The King bellowed his head back, and shook the room with laughter. It was unusual for Ned to seem so cheerful. Perhaps the caffeine was getting to him?

The King took a long swig of the stuff and wiped it from his brow. "Well, General, I'm liking this old world drink of yours! Is it possible to get a cold version somewhere?"

"Cold? Why would you want that cold?" Nathan jested. Then he remembered who he was speaking to. "Sorry your grace. If you want, you can just add some milk to lighten the taste, or some sugar for sweetness?" He was merely offering vague suggestions at this point, for te King could do as he pleased in this world. At least he wasn't the type who liked Murder and all that came with it.

"Ah, it's fine. Just quite bitter, that's all. I shall grant a lordship for the man or woman who brings this 'coffee' down to King's Landing! Better than the pisswater they've served as on the way here!" Nathan wasn't sure if the King was genuine with this particular part, but it seemed a good response at least.

"It seems you're all settling in quite well here, from what I can see." He just wanted to relax a bit more. The journey had been long and enduring. If only the boat had the fuel to reach somewhere like King's Landing soon. But there simply wasn't enough fuel for that. He slowly backed out of the King's chamber. "I'm sure you will all have a great time here on your way to the Castle. About time you saw something that was a bit normal at least.

His room was not quite as lavish as the King's, but it would certainly do for his time, even if he needed to spend days here, which would be unlikely given the rate of travel. Boston was a large city, but it was only a city, not a continent fortunately enough. The walls were wooden of course, but they had Wasteland pictures present too, one of which was a portrait from the Pre-War world of some family next to a Red Rocket stop. A reminder of a life he might have had, if it weren't for the bombs.

As he looked out the window, he could see the iconic, outstanding tower representing Bunker Hill, a great centre of trade in the Post-War world. He imagined some of the first Westerosi and perhaps even Essosi were setting their sights in this town. As foreign as they were, there was no doubt the folk living there would appreciate the rise in business. As they passed at a rate faster than the rowing boats could possibly go, that strange ship full of robots was still there in the skyscraper, where he had once aided them in taking off. If only Captain Ironside could see him now. He wondered what that crew would be planning now. Perhaps to cross this Narrow Sea?

He noticed there was an underwater chamber too underneath this. How handy! As he went below this metal deck to investigate, he noticed a thickened window that looked out into the water. All the walls and surfaces down here were metal. It must have indeed been salvaged from a pre-war boat! As he looked outside, he could see the fish of the Commonwealth, some of whom had three eyes looking back at him. The occasional shape of something larger could be seen too. It came closer.

Bump!

It was one of those strange mutated dolphins that dwelled on the waters, with teeth like a sharks and what looked like openings on the side. The start of gills? Evolution couldn't have occurred this quickly in its own, so radiation or some other hand must have played a part. That or it was just a deformity. So far, the rumours of this 'ghoul whale' dwelling around, had come out fruitless. Even if they were true, it would be much too shallow for it. But he noticed something in the distance, something large.

Before he could look further, a large explosion shook the boat. Something clearly was going on upstairs. Were they under attack? He rushed out of his chambers to the stairs to find out what.

As he went up, he could see the commotion. Raiders again! They were settled on the bridge, and it was clear they had laid some kind of trap for the Royal escort. One must have fired a grenade. It had torn through the sails and now the soldiers were facing off against them. Nathan grabbed his trusty rifle and fired back.

"You fuckers ruined everything for us!" One of the raiders shouted as he dropped a Molotov cocktail down. It caught and set a Northerner guard on fire just a few feet from him. It would be too late for him. He turned back to the raider, whom he continued to shoot at. "All these big guards takin' out my boys, the gang's are all being absorbed into the Forged, and there's less game to hunt! You deserve much worse than this for what you've-" a crossbow bolt went into his eye and he fell back. Nathan turned around and saw that it was Sandor Clegane, with the crown prince Joffrey cowering behind him. He grunted again.

"You've never truly felt pleasure in this shitty life until you've killed someone!" He noted as he fired into the savages more. Whether this was genuine or not, Nathan didn't feel comfortable being around this hulking man. At least he's on our side, he thought.

Nathan turned around to exploit the situation. One of the raider groups was precariously close to a gone pipe, once used for gas. His first shot missed by what felt like a mile, which certainly wasn't what he hoped for. As he reloaded, he noticed Sandor covering him with the bow. "Don't you worry, 'general', I may be a brute, but I'm no monster. You're probably closer to what a knight should be than any of these shiteaters!" Nathan couldn't bear to look at the hideous black and red scars on the left side of his face.

The next round hit a raider in the shoulder, but even this was useless as she clearly had a stimpak and ducked for cover to apply it. This battle would be dangerous. He noticed something was on te bridges too, ready to damage the boat. He could hear children screaming all around.

Suddenly, he was knocked to the ground. One of them had gotten on board! He turned around, but before he got a view of his attacker, he was once again knocked back. It was as if they wished to remain unseen.

A female voice called to him as the figure held him forward. "See those little princes and princesses? They're all going to die slowly and painfully. We'll cook em, let the boys have some fun. Maybe sell one or two as slaves. Oh don't worry, the adults will get the same treatment. Just you-" she was cut short as Nathan instinctively kicked her in the gut, sending her flying back. As she got up to launch another attack, her chest seemed to explode in blood. As he looked closer, a large and sharp blade poked out of her, and she collapsed. Ned was behind her.

"You can offer your thanks later." As he got up, Nathan covered Ned's back as he went on to finish a second raider trying to board the ship. They couldn't afford to lose a child, especially a lord's child to a group of savages like this. It simply wasn't right. On deck so far, the Kingsguard, Hound, Ned and several minutemen gunman were the ones defending from the raiders as they came about from the bridge and a couple of small rafts they had made. Another was incoming, with at least a dozen men and women, all armed to the teeth.

However, a mighty explosion was heard, much bigger than any grenade. When Nathan looked through the clearing smoke, he saw there was almost nothing left of the upcoming raft. No-one on the ship seemed to know what had happened. Either something had exploded on the raft, or it had come from below the waters...

As the ship went out of the bay, they began to approach their destination. The raiders were now either dead or had simply given up the chase. Nathan got to work straight away to haul the dead bodies overboard. He shouted. "Tohrren! You may want to mop up some blood over here!" He looked down and noticed one of the bodies was one of the Kingsguard too! Ser Meryn Trant had apparently received a bullet wound to the neck and bled out defending the entrance to the lower deck. His body would be kept in so that his family down in the Stormlands could know. Great, now we have two kingsguard to replace. Isn't this turning out grand!

The Hound looked down at the corpse as the other adults gathered around. "Ha! Meryn fucking Trant everyone! Truly one of the greatest fighters in the Seven Kingdoms! He died for such a great cause!" He bellowed, with his facial features contorting to truly hideous proportions. He stopped as soon as the King stepped forward though.

King Robert saw. "Oh bugger." He pulled in another deep breath. "How much longer does this bloody journey have to go on for. If it's like this for the rest, none of us will make it to King's Landing alive!"

Ned reassuringly put a hand on his shoulder. "Worry not, Robert. Once we get down to the city, we can implement as many laws and appoint as many people to positions as you like. We'll be better able to deal with this then." Robert nodded and got back, as the Minutemen soldiers dragged Trant's body over to a premade coffer, made presumably just in case there were casualties.

Once the blood was mopped and all the bodies disposed of, the other guests could return to the surface. It was clear the children could not wait to be reunited with their mother, who was clearly losing her grip on reality following the death of her brother. If Robert were to die, the realm would be left under the unstable Joffrey with little supervision, and Nathan wasn't a fan of this possibility. He wasn't sure these children were truly ready to take on those sorts of responsibilities yet. He tried to be hopeful of the future, but he just wasn't feeling it now.

As the others looked around the surface, they were relieved now. Tommen, the little prince pointed. "Look, the local people are coming up to us now! He tried smiling and waving at them. Nathan came ahead and saw many familiar faces, even if he did not remember the names.

Settlements on the river side welcomed the Royal Escort as they started to approach the Castle. The boat was going out into the bay now, probably to return to Whiteharbour to fix itself again.

King Robert and Ned were discussing some matter on their horses, while the Royal children played together in the fields, relieved to be away from the raiders. Nathan found it almost impossible to believe that two children who were not even teenagers would be betrothed in marriage to one another- it didn't seem natural to him! This kind of thing would never be allowed in America! Still, he had no authority over such matters. He needed to stick to what he knew. And politics was not that. Natalie might have known some more...if she was still with him.

"Oi!" The King shouted after him on his great steed. "We near this 'Castle', now? My feet are aching already!" The King surely lacked grace on his manner of speech. He knew Robert was weaker following the assassination attempt, but he was regaining strength now. But it seemed he was changing too. He had lost over three stone in the last few weeks, his hair was starting to fall out and his skin was becoming flaky. Was he undergoing some some of ghoulification? It seemed that way. He wondered what the people of King's Landing were going to think about it.

"Sure, your grace. Not long to go now. In fact, I can see it over there! Looks like it's been built up a bit since I last saw it." It was true. New fortifications were being built in the form of stone towers, so that it looked more like a typical castle of old, and more useful to defend. The artillery packed a formidable punch from each tower, and would devastate any opponent arrogant enough to get too close.

"It better be." The King grunted and kicked his horse for it to move forwards. Ned trailed up from behind. Nathan preferred to walk. Dogmeat seemed to be getting some kind of scent on him, but Nathan ignored it.

As they moved in, they could see a number of traders had made their home here. He could see the normal Brahmin along with cows and aurochs from Westeros. It seemed that smallfolk and fishermen had made their way here and were looking for deals to be made. The market place in the middle was surrounded by the great turrets pointing out to any enemies on their way in, and shacks had been built of wood and metal to secure them.

"Hmmm." King Robert looked around. "Not what I'd had in mind when you said a castle. Then again, I've learned to expect the unexpected with you Wastelanders." They wondered in, with the kingsguard and Minutemen guards surrounding them all.

The Westerosi present bent the knee to their King, even the children, and local Minutemen and merchants seemed to join in well, albeit reluctantly and with confusion. Many may not have even been aware of what was happening. As Nathan raised a hand, they too acknowledged. "What's going on here, General? You getting comfy with outsiders?" One minuteman asked. He frowned.

The general got on a platform to inform the others, with a microphone attached. "You know the situation as of late. The Commomwealth moved into new lands, and we trade with the people of those lands right now, as you all are doing. But we need to understand where we are too."

This next speech was difficult to prepare, so he hesitated for a second or so. "We've been added to land belonging to King Robert Baratheon here, a land strikingly different to our own." This was certainly true. "with all that has happened, it is certainly for all our best interests to integrate with the system as much as we can- we may have technology, but this isn't America surrounding us anymore, as you know. If we work together, as you've done so far, great things could be achieved for everyone."

He took another deep breath before delivering his next lines. "I will still be your general, and we are still Bostonians, so let's pull together and make this count!" They cheered him on. Hollow praise, he thought. The man who asked the original question skulked off, though Nathan knew he was trying to look discreet and oblivious, but he had no time for this. There was mumbling all around too, he could hear. Some discernible and others not. A lot was mentioned of "fat" or "primitive" or "screwed", he could hear as he walked through. He looked back and saw Eddard had caught up with his squire, while Robert came down to investigate the marketplace.

"Not bad, General." He said. "Not bad. They should be a bit less glum in future, don't you think?" Nathan turned to him and noticed a paleness coming to his blue eyes. It was already starting. "But other than that, it's a great effort that you've set this up by yourself and your friends. No lordship was needed for you and your friends to be successful."

He bent the knee. "Thank you, your grace. It's...an honour."

The King lifted him back up. "Don't you worry about all that rubbish. I know you're just trying to get into my good books again and look good for your men. Well, this is no King's Landing, but it'll have to do for the night. You got anything to keep us occupied?"

"Sure. Plenty of sightseeing, like the Brotherhood's airport over there, the CIT ruins, Spectacle Island, the General Atomics factory, University Point, and if you look over there, you can see the Boston skyline. Better to see it from that distance, I'd say. As for refreshments, we've got plenty available, and the mirelurk fishing were building up is becoming pretty successful too. What I'm saying is you won't be bored here, and you're probably safe." He wiped more swear from his brow.

"Probably?" The great Hound heard. "That doesn't sound very sure."

"Don't worry about my son's dog. He's not like his brother at least. Thank you for your effort here, it'll be repaid in full when you're on the council."

Ned interjected. "It better be safer in the Capital than out here, or else one of us may lose a child too." Nathan agreed, though he wished Ned hadn't brought up Shaun, even if indirectly.

"There's a very different kind of danger there, Ned. One you may not always suspect." He turned to Nathan again. "What did that raider mention about the 'Forged'? I've heard reports of some firey lunatics down in the north-east Riverlands burning up the lands and expanding into people. Some 'Lord of Light' fanatics it seems." This puzzled Nathan.

He had heard of them in the Commonwealth as fire-worshipping savages who were feared even by other raiders for their fanaticism and their brutal initiation rituals. Perhaps they were now expanding into Westeros, preying upon the smallfolk and anyone else unlucky enough to fall into their traps?

"Yes, I've heard of them. They're another group of raiders, who are obsessed with fire. I have heard the gangs are being rounded up and United, but I had no idea it was the Forged who were doing it. And I don't know anything about that Lord of Light. They never worshipped anything like that from what I heard." This sounded like some eastern religion he had read about.

"Mayhaps it was mere superstition." Ned seemed sceptical of the reports. "Hoster would tell me through Cat about such monstrous things happening in his land, and how could Rh'lorr be so prevalent among Wastelanders?"

"The gods only know." The King resigned. "Well, that's another thing for us to sort out when we get out of this damned place and back south. At least we won't have savages or some shadowy Institute trying to kill us there." Damned right, Nathan thought.


	36. Arya (I)

As Arya Stark got out of the carriage that had taken her and the other children escorts to this 'Castle', she breathed in the strange airs again and noticed that there was the smell of the sea in it. She could hear the waves around her and the sound of gulls calling through the air. Even the sounds of birds here sounded strange compared to the rest of Westeros, as if nature itself was reforged by the abominable forces here. She passed the curtains, with Nymeria at her side, and landed on her two feet without issue.

As she looked around, there was indeed sea out to her side, surprisingly warm and yet also sterile, with little algae in the water, meaning it was clean and easy to see through. The walls of this circular building went around in a similar way to a pit, resembling something out of Old Valyria. Huge tubes circled around the rim, like the guns that the Minutemen carried, only each one was well over ten feet long.

The Castle was a huge expanse, truth be told. But it was no Winterfell. These Minutemen didn't have lords ruling over them, but everyone worked here. Men and women worked together and no-one seemed to bat an eye to it. Arya wondered if maybe she could join their ranks one day. Father wouldn't have allowed it though, being as old fashioned as he was, but one day, she would have her time.

With Father and the King busy with the General, Arya had plenty of time to explore the outer workings of the Castle. Guards were stationed everywhere, making sure she couldn't just go anywhere and explore the surrounding neighbourhood. Who knows what kind of savages and monsters could dwell there, she could imagine Mother saying. Mother wasn't here today to tell her what to do though. With the others occupied, the expanses of the Castle were hers to explore.

She saw another one of the grey cats roaming around the outside, feasting on rad mice that might be dwelling there, or normal mice that had been smuggled in somehow. Arya got down on all fours just as her wolf Nymeria would as she stalked her quarry. She crawled towards the cat, as it was sniffing some greenery, presumably where something had marked it's territory. Now was her chance!

In a bestial form, as if borrowing the nature of her pet, she ran after the cat, hands out to grab, and came to ambush her quarry as it escaped. She was fast, but the cat was faster, as they both moved through the growing grasses surrounding the Castle. The further she went, the heavier her breathing got, until eventually she could hear her heartbeat blasting in her ears. Finally, she got back down and stopped. The cat was too fast for her this time. Perhaps one day, she would take him and bring him back to Father. Maybe then he would accept she was no lady like her sister.

Speaking of her sister, she noticed that Sansa was off on the riverside, with the prince, who clearly seemed bored at the fleeting moments where Sansa wasn't looking at him. He weilded his weapon before her, which he had the boldness to call "Lion's tooth." This lion's teeth look like they've been blunted, she thought as she looked at him. He towered over Sansa, but his frame was thin and his lips like little worms. He had the golden hair and green eyes of his mother, yet none of his father's features. Arya couldn't understand what she saw in Joff. He was no material for a King, that was certain.

The General seemed to be a similar spoilsport to Father, not wanting her and the other young ones to get too close to the waters or outside the ranges of the park. "There could be dangers," he would say. "Mirelurks or snapping fish". Those things weren't the type to frighten Arya. What threat could giant crabs pose to a man? If they did come, her trusty sword Needle would shred them apart.

As she followed her sweet sister across the bank, she noticed something. In the waters, something was moving towards Samsa and Joffrey. Fast. As if like the tides underneath! It must have been one of those mirelurks they had warned about!

She ran forward, crying out as she pushed Sansa down and knocked the prince off his feet. She screamed "look out!"

They both got up and Sansa berated her. "Why did you do that, Arya? Why did you have to humiliate me in front of prince Joffrey! Are you mad?" She got up and shrugged at her now dirty dress.

The prince scoffed. "Stupid girl. Just a fish or something spooked you. Women should never be allowed to fight- they'd end up dead or worse!" The prince sneered. "Perhaps that's something you'd want, is it? Go! You're not wanted here, brat." Arya, tears in eyes turned around and ran. She didn't want Sansa to see tears in her eyes, nor the prince who would mock her. She went over to the water now.

It was just a fish after all. She had wasted her efforts and reputation protecting her sister from an ordinary fish.

But perhaps it wasn't so ordinary? She came to it and saw that for some reason, it had a third eye! The radiation must have truly affected everything in these lands, so nothing was truly safe to eat. She figured drinking from here wasn't worth the risk without a big purifier in sight. As she looked across the bay, she saw clouds gathering, and the distant sight of wooden ships from Whiteharbour. Clearly that city was more alive than anything in this Commonwealth. Father never let her see the outside world on the way here, either.

The shores to the south showed the outline of another building. Some of the strange flying ships zipped out from it across the sea, none going close to the Castle. They knew their ground at least. But sooner or later, it couldn't remain this way. It seemed that even without Father's need to bring this land under his rule, the people here would already be at each others' throats. With weapons like theirs, the ruins would run red with blood.

A howl came, audible to all. Nymeria had followed her! As she got on her knees, the great wolf came and locked her face, happy to see her. "Good girl! Where have you been?" Nymeria couldn't talk of course, but Arya hadn't seen her since before the boat was attacked by the savage men. Nymeria was always there to comfort her when her siblings neglected her or she felt cornered, and it was always good to have her company generally. Nymeria's nuzzle rubbed against her lap as she sat down on the ground, new shoots of grass coming through.

A wirring noise came and approached the two as they cuddled, with Nymeria lowering her ears and a low but bestial growl returning. Arya turned to see a meagre couple of feet away was the robot Codsworth.

"Forgive me for startling you, lady Stark. Dad wanted me to check on the children throughout the Castle, and after I heard the commotion, I felt all the obligation to come to your aid!" None of her servants back in Winterfell were so concerned about her wellbeing, even the ones who saw her grow. Mother just tried to make her more like a lady. "Would you care to return to the foyer? We have plenty of toys and things available for children!" Arya shrugged. She had no interest in trinkets like that, she just wanted to see the world in all its glory! Nevertheless, she started to follow.

At least for a time. Despite three eyes being better than two, Codsworth's back left him with a blind spot, and with a bush present, she took her opportunity to escape! Now she could explore the lands around!

Arya moves through the bushes with the same reflexes as her beast. As soon as she left, she saw the ruins of the surrounding area near the coast. Here, dying buildings and strange multicoloured crates stood laid chaotically around. All were covered in rust, with any glass shattered. Arya wondered what could be in such places. As she and Nymeria walked closer to these ruins, she could scarcely hear the voice of Codsworth now.

The crates were partly open and stood larger than any carriage. Whatever was once in them was almost certainly raided and discarded by now. Arya wondered what must have been so important once. Only a small box seemed to remain. As Arya turned to it, she noticed there were various buttons and a dial on it. Perhaps it was some strange Wastelander device? A weapon, perhaps? She pressed something. Now noise came out, blurring! She turned and got Needle out, hoping to silence it. Nymeria turned the dial on it and it went down, to a more quiet state. "Good girl!" She said as she patted her pet. Now she could take this box with her as she went out the crate and explored the neighbourhood.

The outside remained a clear coast, and no creatures were in the nearby waters, so she was safe to go for the building nearby.

She now noticed a window had been smashed completely in this old house, and she decided to take her chance. She climbed right through, avoiding te sharpened glass. Nymeria followed through afterwards, though she yelped as sole broken glass was caught in her paw. Arya took it out as she could, but she had no bandage for the blood. She tore a piece of her ugly dress her handmaidens made and put it over the wound instead. Nym was grateful for this, she could tell.

As her and Nymeria moved, they encountered something moving in the old house' kitchen. A rattling could be heard from across the centre of the house already. They went over to investigate.

There was lots of metal present in this kitchen, unlike those of Westeros. Cutlery, stoves, tables. Almost everything seemed made of iron, steel, copper or something else. Most was rusted though from years of misuse, and the cobwebs were truly staggering here. Perhaps giant spiders lived in these wastelands as well. That was hardly worth considering, she thought. As Arya looked around, there was no sign of any animals that could make such a noise. No cats or rats appeared in view.

Nymeria thought otherwise, as she was sniffing constantly and seemed to growl. Something wasn't right. This place couldn't have had much food in it, for no rancid smells of old food clung to the air. Arya walked ahead slowly, Needle in hand. Her wolf was by her side constantly. She saw a small movement in the pans and went over. She picked it up. The touch was rough and metallic, rusted to the point that it would be unusable to anyone wanting to cook. This place truly was abandoned.

The air seemed to move. A screech was heard. Before she could turn, Nymeria kept ahead of her and blocked like lightning, thrashing her head around at something. As Arya looked, there was a hairless rat like creature in her mouth, with sharpened teeth and a vicious maw. That creature had tried to kill and eat her! These must have been the things which savaged many Wastelanders on their way between settlements! Arya thought she could understand what made these lands so harsh, but it was now clear to her that even the creatures were twisted beyond nature by whatever affected them. She hadn't even seen any of the more monstrous things, but even these hairless rats were terrors.

Before she could thank her hound, more noise came. The creature that tried to attack her was not alone. There were others here. She got out Needle and prepared to defend herself.

One came up from out of the cupboard. She aimed Needle at it as it charged into its mouth and it was speared, dying soon afterwards. The next to attack was a small pup, which she stomped quickly on its head in instinctual reaction. It merely squealed and went back. She felt remorse for this suffering, but soon it was ended as Nymeria, bleeding from wounds inflicted shredded the little creature and turned to the other attackers.

Surrounded by the creatures, the clutter of metal clouded all noises by the enemy. _Perhaps they are more clever than they are given credit for?_ No voices of men could be heard either. It seemed she was all alone here.

A sharp pain came to her leg. Sharp as swords. She howled out as she saw down that the leader of the hairless rats had bitten into her calf. , trying to pull her down. Arya screamed at the creature. _Stick em' with the pointy end! Stick em with the pointy end!_ And that was exactly what she did.

Her blade went into the 'queen's' head, where her brain should be. A screech came from the 'queen', and her remaining forces tried coming to her aid. This monster had attempted to kill her and her wolf, and now it would pay the price for it! She pushed with both her left and her right hand with Needle, to the point the blade bent and creaked, and it went through the bone of skull into the beast. It stopped moving. She tore out the blade quickly, with the blade now bent.

Many of the remaining hairless beasts retreated, but one made a final leap at her. A leap of vengeance, she thought as time seemed to slow down. This would be the final one!

She swung the blade out of the queen with all the force in her small body, and cut the monster in half in a single blow. The blood spilled all around, and the warm spray went around her, in her face, on her clothes, at her feet. She looked up from her feet at her opponent's corpse. But she noticed something. Her blade was broken! As she looked on, the blade had snapped in half as it went through the beast. Even the remaining part attached to the hilt was bent unnaturally at this point. It was no pointy end any longer! But there was more. Nymeria!

She turned and saw no wolf. All she could see was a trail of blood leading out through the back door into the surrounding buildings. As she walked out over the cutlery and metal ruins, she came face to face with a row of buildings and at the end, two places with the name "Gwinnet" on them. One was a "brewery", which she figured was like a tavern, and the other a "restaurant", which she had no idea what it was. Still, the blood seemed to lead over there, so she went over to investigate. Perhaps Nymeria was here?

As she got closer, she could hear there were voices present. Very deep ones at that. Several appear to have been moving at once. She ducked behind cover to see who these men were. They were very tall and covered in brown metal armours, and their skin was green...she realised.

They were no men at all! They were the same race of green monster as Strong, the one who had been a friend of the Starks, but then escaped with Bran following the death of the Kingslayer. Arya couldn't work out why he would ever kidnap Bran after being so friendly to them beforehand. Strong possessed some humanity within him, she noticed in his eyes. These creatures had no such thing left in theirs.

None were quite as large as Strong, but they still towered over any man she had ever seen. There were also more of them- she could see six of them moving outside, all armed with guns and some strange armed weapons. One even stranger hound followed them out too.

But it didn't seem a hound at all! It was green and hairless, with a massive head and shoulders- it shared a Direwolf's size, but not the appearance. The body was thick and top-heavy, like that if a bear, and the head was far too ugly to be a normal dog. The neck transitioned seem lesson between the head and shoulders, being so thick with muscle. The teeth jutted out like a lizard lion, and the eyes were a sharp red like those of Ghost, filled with hate and malice, she reckoned. And behind them- Arya wretched at the sight of the next creature, a pink deformity with arms and legs jutting out of its back and what seemed to be multiple mouths, with a collar around its huge neck, pacing after its green masters from a leash.

Nothing in Old Nan's tales seemed as disgusting as that creature, or the perversions of man that these monsters were! To have once been men and women and turned into such savages forever was a fate too grave to imagine! In that moment, Arya prayed to the Old Gods and the New that Nymeria was safe. It couldn't be fair for the monsters to get her, or worse- turn her into one of theirs!

As they passed by, Arya snuck past their sentries, who had gone off to investigate some other noises. The doors were left wide open into the main part of the brewery. The metals here were mostly rusted and gone, while any wood in the place was long rotten. The floors seemed to be the most intact part of this ancient building. It was in the building that the blood trail ended. The building was in ruins now, and the corpses of mirelurks could be seen from all around. The smell was truly pungent, as if it offended the nostrils themselves. With a broken sword, she would hardly be a threat to any survivors, for each of the corpses appeared to stand at least four feet tall and had shells thicker than Father's armour.

As she moved through this 'brewery', it seemed as though the green Giants patrolling the area were gone. She checked around to see if any of the mirelurk corpses were still alive, or if others were laying in hiding, disguised as rocks. She figured not.

If mirelurks lived here anymore, they would surely have heard her splashing as she moved in the waters, broken sword in hand. The fierce mutants were gone too, but so was the blood trail, gone in the new waters. The metal pipes and structures all around her seemed unrecognisable. Nothing like this existed in Westeros; a place where metal things made drinks rather than brewers in a tavern.

she It was truly scary to even imagine what such a dead world would have looked like, as though the Great War wasn't dark enough. Perhaps it had been a blessing for those peoples' descendants?

She got out of the water, after a brief tumble and found herself on the other side, beside the old belts, having lost rusted into place and not being capable of moving anything anymore. As she stepped around broken bottles, worn down by many years of erosion, she did what she could to avoid the sharp ends poking out at her like transparent razors. Not only would they hurt, but Preston Garvey had warned her in Winterfell about infections setting in. She found his dogma hard to believe though. Tiny creatures that could kill even the largest? It seemed truly absurd to her! Only big animals could be threatening. Or monsters like these. Still, it could never be good to risk it. It was true that some new disease could be dwelling in these ruins, and she didn't want to find out what.

She heard a whimper of her great Direwolf. Arya called to her, but as her breath came, she started to see from a different view. Now she felt as if she had four legs and was covered in fur. And she was in another room! Perhaps this is what the old stories of skinchangers came from! She felt injuries to her new body from the bites of the hairless rats, and another...very unusual feeling lower down in Nymeria's pelvis. This had a pain of its own kind, but somehow was different.

Repulsed by her experience, she returned to her body. Now she had an idea where her wolf was. As she crept behind the large metal pipes that were once used by these 'Prewar' folk, she finally found her wolf, who came to greet her with enthusasm.

"Nymeria!" Arya almost cried out before she remembered that the supermutants could return at any moment. They embraced well. Arya had felt the pain her wolf was in, and the strange feeling she had no description for as well. Nymeria felt satisfied to see her owner again. As Arya got up to turn around, Nymeria's ears pricked up, alert. Arya turned around to see that the green hound had returned!

It let out a growl at Arya and was preparing to bark. Arya thought she heard some kind of voice further outside the distillery as well-one of the supermutants catching wind of her? These beasts were stupid, that was clear, but they weren't stupid enough to not find a little girl, she figured out. The voices began to near, and soon she started to notice discernible words. "What's that?" one voice said, while another, almost indistuinguishable said- "I hope it's a human this time! Yum!" Arya looked upon the ruins of Needle. _Stick em' with the pointy end!_ But there was no pointy end to stick with! It seemed as if this is how she would end, far away from Father and her family. Alone.

But then as it looked at Nymeria, its position changed. Its ears went from an aggressive pose to...another. It sat down and stopped growling. It nevertheless approached, and let out a high pitched whimper. The mutants shrugged. "It's nothing. Stupid mutt!" Arya could hear their footsteps fading as they moved away. This hound approached though, going past Arya towards Nymeria. The two rubbed muzzles. Arya wasn't sure what was going on. Were they in love somehow? Perhaps she had been wondering longer than she thought?

After some brief noises exchanged between the two great beasts, Arya wished for a second she could skinchange to gain some understanding of what happened. But part of her realised she didn't want to either. She laid out a hand to the mutated beast, though it growled to her touch. Nymeria calmed it-no, him down again. He nuzzled once more and left through the door. Arya could hear the mutants voices, asking where the dog had been. They were alone again.

With the coast clear, they could leave once more. Another entry was clear at this point, but something else was moving here. As she listened in, the clear sound of footsteps could be heard. And they were approaching her! She took cover once more. First a shadow, then a foot came into sight. Arya looked up at this new being. This being was far slower and seemed made of metal, like some knight. It was no supermutant, but box-like and bulky, seemingly struggling to even walk properly. It turned to her.

"Welcome, stranger! The name's Buddy the robot! Fraid I've wondered far from the Shamrock Taphouse, but this seems like it'll have to do. Fraid you're also too young to try some of the drinks I have on offer. Would you be up for a joke?" The machine was loud, and it could alert the supermutants back to her position. She was certainly in no mood for a joke!

"Not now, I need to get out of here." She tried to say to the being in front of her, whatever it was. Perhaps it was a robot like Codsworth? Only this one was far, far simpler.

"Alright then!" It said again in its booming voice. "The entrance is right over there!" It pointed to another door seperate from the first. Perhaps she could trace her way back to the Castle from here? She nodded with appreciation and her and Nymeria went on their way back out.

The sight of the outside world was a welcome sight. Now, she and her hound went on the way back home. Father would not be pleased, that seemed sure.


	37. Curie (III)

The shrill beauty of the frozen forest was not the kind of thing Curie had ever thought she would encounter in Vault 81, nor the cohesive elements of a society unaffected by the brutal alterations of radiation. Yet here she was. Her chance to bring civilisation, technology and science to new people's was an opportunity too great to miss!

They were now even further north than the encampments. Further than ever before in fact, she figured. She was not tired like her flesh and blood companions, but it wasn't that which concerned her. It was the eery reports of cannibals living in these lands. Fjorn and his tribe, the Woodhides, were a relatively civilised group among these 'wildlings', but some truly did deserve their reputation. She had heard stories east of a man who offered his own offspring as sacrifices to strange gods, and of monstrous Pleistocene creatures dwelling in these lands. She had already seen giants, and the rumours of mammoths and Megaloceros being present here too were too great opportunities to resist. Studying intact fauna like this would add so much to the understanding of the ancient. So much progress for science!

"What you thinkin' about, machine? Running some fancy things in...whatever you have instead of a brain?" Rugas the archer asked as he eyed her up from the side. He was a new recruit to this expedition they were launching to the far north. The main purpose of this was to investigate disappearances in the region, though it seemed there was also suspicion that Mance Rayder was hiding something from Fjorn too. Deacon had noted what kind of man Rayder was, a man of deceptive arts like himself. _It takes one to know one_ , her processors thought as she reflected on the situation. She returned herself to the conversation, all in a time far beyond what the human mind could comprehend.

"Just all the research and data I will be able to collect here. You can deal with these military threats of savage cannibals and rival tribes, and I will do whatever research I can here. I can defend myself of course, and you if need be, but only as a last resort. That is my purpose among you after all. I hope I can not be an obstruction to you."

"Indeed, let's hope so." The archers were certainly of use to the group as they marched up. But it was the Minutemen who were the true leaders. The lords of Westeros were not informed of this, it was certain, or else the Minutemen and they would certainly fall into dispute, and perhaps even war. To collaborate with the enemy could not be taken lightly after all! The minutemen had technology and logistics on their side, far more than any disorganised tribes.

One example of such technologies were the group of military grade robots who aimlessly followed them around the outer peripheries of the group. They had lasers, guns and armour thicker than any medieval plate. Some would give power armour a run for its money.

Rugas started talking again. "I can't wait to slaughter these scum! When we get together with the Whitefeathers again, we'll smash those cannibals to pieces. Maybe I can kidnap a new wife from them! Hope she's better than the last one." Curie kept her disgust to herself.

"Alright, soldiers!" Commander Jenny gave as she led the small army. "We are dealing with an unknown threat here that is very skilled with the terrain. They may not be technologically adept, but they probably have numbers on their side, and they have knowledge here. Watch out for traps. Even our robots won't be much help against those, I'm afraid. Make sure they don't make you complacent, and you'll almost certainly make you way out of this alive. Is that clear, men?"

A unanimous positive response was heard across the Minutemen, but Curie felt too busy to comply. She was not truly a minuteman after all, merely a collaborating scientist. She had no part among them, or with these 'Railroad' Deacon belonged to.

Neither did the free folk, who had their own hierarchy here. Led by Harren, the archers and spearmen would know the terrain reasonably well, and the many ways to live off the land, as had been shown before. As experts of the hunt, they would doubtlessly find the food to survive the shivering winters here. Curie used her solar panels to charge her batteries instead. That way, no animal or plant could come under harm from her. all she would hope to do is to continue research on the denizens of these intact forests. She prided herself on this.

Rustling could be heard from far ahead. Perhaps it was a sign of some local creature to study, or one of the Free folk had sent scouts to stalk them as they went into the woods? She sent power to her thruster, elevating her well above her normal height, allowing her to scout the locations more easily. She noticed it was some ferret, one that she felt didn't deserve to be made food by the humans she travelled with. She felt the need to decieve to save the life of another.

"No signs of life here. It must have been leaves rustling in the wind!" Part of her wanted to see what these alleged cannibal tribes Fjorn had referenced were about. to deal with groups as monstrous as raiders and supermutants again would take out the moral ambiguity that was developed around the conflicts between local tribes, all trying desperately to survive out here. In the lands north of the Wall, distinguishing right from wrong in such situations became very difficult. She knew what she should do at least.

Deacon came up from far behind, seemingly wanting some time alone. "Sorry guys, had to take nature's call, you know the drill!" Curie figures that he had stayed far too long merely for urination, and no signs of deficating were present on his bodily posture, though these weren't always easy to detect even for her.

"Took a damned long time pissing, you did." Harren noted. "We don't have time here. Winter hasn't come yet, but it will sooner or later, and these tribes may get to us even sooner. Can't say it's a fate I'd like to suffer, though you may have something different to offer? All those secret times away must have something, right?" He huffed and crept forward, ever ready in case predators came.

"I can agree on the not getting eaten part, but I can't help wonder why you're being so secretive about what's up here, so maybe you should give us slack! We're Minutemen and we just want to bring justice where we go!" Curie knew from her experience with Deacon privately that he was the kind to investigate rumours and track over great distances on unknown sources. It was clear he was up to something with Railroad H.Q. It just wasn't clear to her yet.

"Calm down, men." Commander Jenny barked. "We're on a very specific mission here, let's not screw this over for the sake of someone going for a piss!" Everyone was quiet now. Curie imagined the wildlings like Harren would protest, but then again, Jenny and the other Minutemen had vastly superior weapons. They weren't as disciplined as the Brotherhood or fanatical as the Railroad, but they had a serious edge against wildlings and most raiders, from what she could observe.

But as her optic processors observed her sides, she could see the Minutemens' weakness clearly as well. They were now outnumbered by Wildlings. _Their intentions are good and kind, but their ambition is their curse,_ she thought. _And if they are not careful, their downfall._

Harren pointed ahead with his bow. "There. We're close." He pointed at a marked tree, alone and cut off from the rest of the trees. A red arrow pointed up. "That is the sign of the White Feathers. Our allies for the past five generations. Fjorn's...ancestor made a pact with the Feathers and our tribes act as one in battle ever since. We are nearing their territory." As they marched forward, Curie noticed a change in the forest. It was not as pristine as it was, but some had been cut down, presumably to make wood for the camp.

"Aren't there normally scouts or something to welcome you?" Corporal Alan noted. He was low in rank among the Minutemen, but he was one of its primary technicians who handled the machines. Lacking Curie's self awareness, they were just tools of gardening, cultivation and defense. Most dangerous of them all was the Assaultron Gorgon he named "Zap". It was te most powerful of its kind: rare even among the Gunner ranks. She had heard it had killed at least seven super-mutants, if not more, with little but a scratch on it. Even a deathclaw matriarch failed to take it down. Nothing that dangerous dwelled up here, surely?

Harren turned back. "That is true. The cannibals have attacked, and we don't know how many they have lost yet." He readied his bow. Jenny raised her gun and nodded the other Minutemen to do the same. Deacon alone kept his weapon in its holster. Curie did not want to fight today, but it seemed there would be no choice.

She saw something in the distance, through the blizzard blowing ahead. A vague shadow, that became clearer as she zoomed in with her cameras. Silhouettes. Of men. With weapons in hand!

"Gentleman, it seems we are under attack! Right ahead. They seem to be coming in our direction armed with axes of some sort! But-" before she could finish, Rugas and his brother Orig got their bows out and fired.

One missed, the other struck a target on the leg, slowing them down. She advanced ahead, switching to infrared vision to see how many targets there were. There were at least nine of them, and they all had high heart rates, though something didn't seem right.

Officer Jenny opened fire on the cannibals, who seemed to utterly ignore the guns aimed at them, and she and her Minutemen comrades fired at the upcoming savages, downing four of them. Private Macdonald, the last survivor of the raider attack days earlier, tripped one with a butt of his rifle, while a sixth, a ragged axe-man with blood around his mouth was hit clean by Marek's own axe, cringing as his steaming entrails landed in the snow.

Macdonald held the spearwoman down with the butt of his rifle, crying out "What did you do with the Whitefeathers? Tell us!" The woman turned up, shaking. She had fear in her eyes, Curie noticed. A deep primordial fear. She seemed to want to speak, yet also seemed unable to.

"She's obviously scared by your gun, Mac." Deacon stepped in, under his John Johnson disguise. "Maybe turn it down a bit?" Curie knew better than this though.

"No, private Johnson." Jenny stepped forward. "She's never even seen a gun before. She's not afraid of our weapons, or even us. The others who came for us don't seem to be any different. Something happened in that camp."

She was right. The irregular heartbeats and breathing Curie detected were signs of fear, not anger or rage. If cannibalism meant little to these people, what could?

Before she could continue, one of her men spoke out. "You're saying we killed them for nothing? Fleeing people for nothing?"

Red Rugas, fiery as his hair, turned to this private. "Nothing? Those we killed were savages who ate the flesh of their fellow men and threatened divisions within Rayder's army! They deserved a far more painful death than what we gave. We can rectify it with this woman!"

Jenny stepped forward. "No. We can use her to lead us to the Whitefeathers' camp, and if we can get past her obvious post-traumatic stress, perhaps some information on what happened. See if anything's changed since Harren's last journey there. You know what I'm saying?"

Rugas, with his axe aiming towards the captive, stood at odds, his face contorted in rage, but ultimately, his heart rate reduced and he relented. The snow died down now. The way ahead started to become clearer as a result, but only very slowly. The prisoner was handcuffed by MacDonald and she was dragged forward with the others. Curie felt confusion. Should she pity her, or shun her? There was only one way to find out.

More red arrows appeared on the trees, with white feathers now on them. But the trees were stripped and some smeared with blood. As Harren noted immediately afterwards, "something isn't right here."

The captive, previously silent and quietly walking, suddenly started to wail as she entered the grounds first. She turned round and screamed to try and get out again. Two Wildling axe men held her in place, shouting to restrain her and calm her, while Deacon stepped aside awkwardly. Curie entered. Now she could see what there was to scream about.

"Dear god." She heard one of the Minutemen exclaim as she saw a dead child near the gate. It must have been an eight year old girl. Even in the Commomwealth, the slaughter of children tended to be carried out by only the worst raiders and cruellest gunners. Her dead eyes looked up to the sky, as if crying out in warning. As her other optic sensor turned, Harren and the archers moved in first.

"By the gods, they're all dead! The Whitefeathers are no more!" Marek dropped to his knees, murmuring. Perhaps he was praying to the Old Gods that lived in these trees? She would need to gather more data on which trees these were. But the tragedy at hand was shaking her conscience to it's core.

"Oh all the innocents who perished here!" She exclaimed as the corpses were flung around each corner of the camp, equivalent to over one hundred metres from side to side. Men, women, children, dogs, aurochs and even a Megaloceros lay there. She saw that there were different garments on some of the corpses too.

"Fjorn will be furious about this!" Harren exclaimed. "We shall scout the area for signs, so-" he was cut off.

"There's Clan corpses here too, Harren. Quite a few actually." Orig pointed around to one of the marked corpses, with red face paint like blood and the skins of mammoth instead of reindeer.

Rugas dismised it in an instant. "The Whitefeathers would have certainly fought back against these brutes. Their losses would be too much."

Harren seemed unsure. "Then why were they running from the camp? And some of these men looked surprised. As if they were hit by something else. A third tribe perhaps?"

"Whatever it is," Jenny started. "We better deal with it as soon as possible. If this is some other tribe, or beasts, we need to set up a parameter and deal with them responsibly."

"If they are beasts." MacDonald said. "We've seen goddamn giants here! What else are they hiding up here? Yeti? Sabre-tooth? Ice dragon?"

Jenny aimed her carbine at him. _She certainly has no time for dissent,_ Curie though as she observed from her left optical frame. _"_ Silence, private! Your irrational fears are unwarranted, there are perfectly legitimate reasons for this to have occurred. We just need to find out what."

Curie observed in her right optic that some signs of disturbance were present in the snow, near some of the corpses. Some rodent could have done it, such as a vole. Yet her monitors could detect no heartbeat. The Minutemen would not believe her if she voiced her concern.

"Rugas, burn the corpses. Now!" Harren started, as he took his bow out, ready for some unknown threat. "We can't take any risks."

Deacon raised his voice this time. "What do you mean risks?" He looked around to his 'fellow' Minutemen. "Sure a cremation's nice and respectful, but we could need that fire to warm ourselves. And I didn't think you'd want to burn those cannibals."

Harren turned to him. "Trust me, we have to. You might think us a people of tall tales, but those tales are there for a reason. As I said, we must burn them."

"That will be all, private." Jenny got her signal to Peterson, the demolitions expert of they had bought along should the need arise, who got out his flamethrower.

He was a ragged man, probably in his fifties. He had likely served under the old general before Nathan, and disbanded upon his predecessor's death. His red beard seemed rusted, and his eyes, eyes that once shone with life, felt empty, as if missing something inside. The weapon would be handy for the cremations taking place. Cure wasn't sure why this needed to be done though.

Tradition perhaps? Many cultures in the prewar world would burn their dead ceremonially, so perhaps it was a deep rooted tradition here. Or was it to prevent animals from raiding camps?

MacDonald pushed forth the captive. As the last survivor of the true 'first' expedition beyond the Wall, he had seen terrible things from wildlings and the familiar raiders, and Curie couldn't blame him for being suspicious. Rugas prepared his axe for something deadly. It seemed as if they were-

"Please, gentleman! Let us not resort to such violence. It will not solve anything with this poor woman!" She tried her best to defuse this.

It did not work. Arguments soon broke out between the wildlings, the Minutemen and the tribes woman, who started to talk but it was obscured. She tried to listen in, even if it took everything in her processor to do. Once more though, her audial sensors noted that something was moving outside this group. Something big.

The woman was whispering. "Men...dead...attack...Whitefeathers...dead were walking...white...white..." Confused ramblings most likely, but they had meaning as to what happened. They could not be ignored.

Her mumbling trailed off. Curie finally had enough of the bickering around and shot her laser to the sky. "Ladies and gentleman, shall I?" She projected her voice much louder than usual to them. They all stopped disputing and looked at her. Even the captive looked up at her, as if suddenly realising what she was.

"We can't afford to fight like this. This woman clearly has something to say here. She mentioned in her whispers that there was an attack and that her tribe and the Whitefeathers were killed. Perhaps it was the snow? Let us not get further-" she was cut off.

The captive was smacked to her feet again by MacDonald, with his rifle pointing in the back of her head. "Listen here, you cannibal shit! You're going to give us what we want, or else." Curie felt more and more uneasy. She sensed more activity going on around them. Behind MacDonald even.

"Private!" Jenny put her hands out, obviously trying to defuse the situation. "You do that and we don't know what killed the Whitefeathers. Our mission up here is jeopardised, and this whole expedition could be a failure. Just calm down. Now!"

Macdonald ignored her. "I'm sick of taking orders from someone who wasn't even my original captain! I say we end this whole affair now! I say-"

He never finished his line, for a dagger rended into his side, to his shock, and a pale, shrivelled army wrapped round his throat and tore it from ear to ear with a spear tip.

Blood rushed out and steamed across the snow beneath them. MacDonald fell, the captive woman screamed for her life and tried to run as two of what had been corpses stood atop MacDonald, stabbing him as his gasps grew weaker. They looked up at the others as they did so, staring vacantly.

"What the fuck!" Deacon cried out, as he stood back. Almost tripping on himself. The others were similarly in shock as the corpses around them, well over two hundred, started to rise. Even the animal carcasses rose from the ground, all with glowing blue in their eyes.

Had Curie had lungs, she would be screaming right now. All she could do now was ready her weapons for the coming assault.

A hale of bullets broke through the growing snowstorm, yet seemed to not affect the charging corpses besides slowing them down. A corporal went too far into the fog, and she was surrounded and torn by the Wight armada.

"Are they ghouls?" The captain shouted over the commotion. "How are ghouls this far north? And why aren't they responding to bullets? This can't be right.

Curie shredded one heading for the captive in half with her buzzsaw, and yet it continued to try and stab at her. All the while, she seemed to be mumbling "white! White! Ice! Blue! White!"

As her scans revealed, these were something far worse than any ghoul. Something that should not be according to all the scientific research she had done. "They have no pulse at all! And there is no radiation here to turn them. I feel they are some-"

"Wights!" Harren cried as he booted one and coated his arrows in paste. "They're wights!" The wildlings there froze and began prepare their satchels as they fought off the invading force.

Curie turned to retreat and gather, but the girl at the gate, or what had been the girl at the gate, greeted her, dagger in hand. Her sensors froze. Could she kill a little girl, even one who was undead?

Peterson's flamethrower went off in the background. He cried out. "They burn like napalm! Scorch the fuckers!" _They are weak to burns?_ She knew she had to act fast. She hesitated for a few seconds and fired her laser at what had been the girl.

What had she done to deserve this fate? The hole was small, but burned clearly, and yet the screeching thing ran towards her, dagger in hand. It was only as she dodged the blows that the fire spread across the 'wight' and it soon caught fire, flailing around. After some time wandering aimlessly, it collapsed and stopped moving.

"Activate the bots, Alan! Now!" Curie heard another voice. He got out his control module and pressed a button, but not before being pierced in the leg by a spear one of the 'wights' held.

He cried out, but soon that wight was shredded by gunfire from a sentry-bot, which blasted a missile into an incoming group of wight-wolves, smashing them into burning pieces. Others caught fire. Curie saw one of the Wildling spearmen was among those caught in the blast though. _Such a tragedy,_ she thought to herself.

She realised that the moment they had arrived, both exits to the large camp were being cut off by the incoming wights from the outside, while te freshly slain corpses and their weapons were inside. The perimeter was twenty foot tall spiked ironwood logs. It had been a trap!

As she turned, she saw the others were just as entrenched in the chaos. Deacon ran out of ammo in his automatic 8mm and flung a frag grenade at some wights carrying bows. She realised one of the wights was the former chieftain with his head hardly attached to his body now, roaring at her like a lion. Deacon rushed to the side and grabbed an obsidian tipped spear, mainly out of desperation as he couldn't find his ammo.

Captain Jenny threw a highly flammable Molotov into the way of a wight polar bear that rushed in. Peterson rushed to Alan to reach him up. He was still trying to activate Zap, the most powerful of the party's robots, and deadly. The Robobrains and swarmbots were easily overwhelmed and the sentry bit was distracted, as a wave of dozens of wights gathered around it, chipping at it in vain with their daggers, but obscuring its vision.

A rumbling came in the ground, startling everyone. Cure rotated to see, only for an undead Raven to fly at her, damaging her left optic frame, obscuring her vision. She knocked it down with a saw and fired her laser into it, quickly roasting it. She now heard a huge crash as the walls of the camp were smashed down in a blur, with Orig crushed underneath some wood from the source of it.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!" Peterson grunted as they came toe to toe with a huge wight mammoth!

Rotted, blue eyed, and more than fifteen feet tall at the shoulder, it was truly a terrifying sight. It turned to Orig, who tried to crawl out of the wreckage, and savaged him to death with its tusks. It's bellow echoed through the entire valley so birds came from the trees. Curie had rarely felt fear, yet now was that time.

Harren had now gotten out his fire-tainted arrows and was offing smaller wights as he saw his comrade fall. He charged as the remaining Wildling archers fired at the great beast ahead. Around them, Marek charged between the Minutemen, slashing at any creatures avoiding the Minutemen hail of bullets.

"We're running low on ammo here!" Peterson cried out. "I don't have the fuel to toast that mammoth. If we're not quick, that thing won't stop till it crushes us!" Curie whirred over as the army of the dead encircled them, except for Harren and his escort, who scouted towards a rocky edge which seemed to be a source of wights coming through. Perhaps they were finding where these new ones were coming from?

Alan screamed at the controls. "God-fucking-damn it!" He was agitated now. He clearly was out of his depth. Mostly gathered into a small group of seventeen now, they were surrounded on all sides by the wights.

Until Alan cheered. "Yes!"

A massive blast of red tore through the wight ranks in the dozens, and soon the cause passed through, effortlessly cutting through wights as if it were dance. Zap was operational again, and she could see that this robot lived up to its reputation.

"I took the Gorgon model and made a few adjustments here and there. Like the armour, taken from an X-02 power armour set." Alan seemed to boast as they were assured as to the number of wights being slaughtered.

Another explosion occurred. The Sentry Bot must have self destructed, exploding with the force of several mini-nukes, smashing a large chunk out of the wooden walls, and incinerating hundreds of wights that had crawled over it. The mammoth was now the only heavyweight among the wights left, with various skeletons and half rotted corpses standing around it in a vanguard, armed with spears and a bow.

Zap went ahead of them. Alan pressed a new command in. The visor at its front glowed red, brighter and brighter as it cut through skeletons coming at it, making not even a small dent on the robot. They clearly had never encountered anything like it before, for they took no notice of its glowing.

Jenny pushed them in. "Here it comes!"

A blast of intense laser shredded through the wight mammoth and its surrounding allies, killing at least forty human wights and various dogs and shadowcat-corpses. Still more were incoming, but the bulk of their force was incapacitated.

They now broke out of formation into their force. With the Cannibal captive near her, she and Deacon took their chance to go to te Cliff edge where Harren and his archers had climbed, using the conveniently placed ledges. She still mumbled words about "walker" and "other", so hopefully Curie could ask her out of combat. But before they could-

"Turn back now!" She looked up with both her good eyes. It was Harren, seeming haunted and injured. "It's worse than I thought! What are you waiting for? Get ou-" he could not finish. For a transparent blade pierced his chest from behind, quickly withdrew and decapitated the man as he stood. It seemed the other archers must have shared this fate.

She glanced down at the head that belonged to Harren, still twitching with shock. She heard Deacon gasp as a landing took place on the snow nearby. What came in its crouched position was unlike anything Curie had seen before.

The being that had killed Harren looked vaguely human, and yet was almost otherworldly in many ways. It wore black metal armour everywhere except the head, with a sigil of an arrowhead in the centre of the chest. The being wore no helmet, and had an almost human beauty to it, with long white hair flung down from the scalp to its hips. In its hand, it held a transparent curved sword of some sort, made of what looked to be ice.

The skin was a milky complexion, with a vague blue tint like ice, with its signature shine. It was ice! This was no undead zombie, but another form of life from the carbon based life she had known. Inhuman. Elegant. Beautiful. dangerous. Utterly terrifying.

The most startling thing as it rose was its eyes. They didn't merely have a flowing blue tint to them, they shone bright blue! It's eyes widened at the sight of Curie, clearly unfamiliar with the form of a Miss Nanny robot. It drew it's weapon and started to march towards them. She wasn't sure how to react to this being. Two of the wights came down by its side, and it sent them forward too, guarding its flanks.

"Curie! Curie!" She could hear Deacon's concerned fears. "This thing is not our friend. Let's attack it if we can!" She backed away, with Deacon coming ahead with the Obsidian spear in hand.

"Come at me, you blue bastard!" If he had ammo, he would surely have used that instead, but it wasn't something they knew yet. The being seemed fearful of the spear, but noted how inexperienced Deacon was and after dodging his thrust, swatted him aside with ease with a single shove. The others in the group caught their attention on it now.

"That the thing that's controlling them?" Jenny didn't wait for Curie's answer. "Open fire, Minutemen! Focus on the..."

"An Other." Marek spoke out under his breath.

"White Walker." Rugas said as it approached. "We thought they were just stories to-"

Jenny interrupted. "Whatever it is, it's commanding the dead. Take it out! Fill it with as many bullets as you got!"

A new hale of bullets went onto this 'Other', and yet it seemed to not affect it at all. Even the wights were at least torn to pieces by the bullets without being stopped, but with this thing, the bullets seemed to shatter on contact! She backed away, as even her laser did not afffect its armour. The being came to the mumbling captive and stabbed her in the heart with its blade, quickly killing her. As it turned up, Alan called out "Zap! Get this bastard in the ground!"

The robot's eye-laser was already warming up as it approached the Walker, who got its blade out to parley. The remaining swarmbots and Mr. Gutsies gathered around the side, forming a vanguard. Given how efficiently the robot had performed alone, Curie felt a sense of relief as to what was happening.

The blast hit the Other point blank in its face. She could hear cheers from the Minutemen, but to their horror it marched on, slowly but surely. It drew it's blade into the head of the Assaultron and ripped it apart, ending the blast. The head was clearly hurt, but the injuries rapidly healed as if it were freezing up again. The robot remained functioning- after all, that was how they were designed, but it's main weapon was no longer functional.

As Zap raised it's blades to attack, the Other threw its own up, and on contact, Zap's blade shattered like glass, to the surprise of everyone. A swarmbot was also shattered on contact in this same swing. Finally, to utterly crush Alan's last hopes, it drew it's blade into the robot's chest, deactivating it. It now looked ahead, and raised its free right hand.

The corpses of the wildlings and Minutemen who had died now rose, as did even more of the ancient skeletal remains from the frozen soil. The Wight that was MacDonald still held his submarine gun, and chaotically fired it at random as he shambles over towards them, hindered by the injuries that killed him. The man she had shared company with at the tents down south, had spoken about the nature of civilisation and the fate of this world, now wished nothing more than for this Minutemen expedition to be added to the army of the dead.

Curie panicked. She had no weapons around that could possibly harm this being, only its undead minions, the wights. Unless...

The obsidian spear!

Deacon was getting up again now, clearly still ringing from the blow by the Other. It was as if frostbite was coming to him, despite all his thick layers of clothing insulting him. The Other's magic bypassed this effortlessly, it seemed. He still had the spear in hand, though. And given its adverse reaction to this substance, it was clearly of some importance or another as a weapon. As she backed away from the icy gaze of the thing, the thief of the simple human dignity of death, she prayed to whatever was out there that they would find out the significance of this weapon.

Jenny, who Curie now saw had diverged from the rest of the group, guns blazing, was trying to euthanize what had once been MacDonald with fire from a Molotov she had. "I'm not ending up like these freaks of nature. I won't let us end like this!" As a large pack of wights came, she threw the Molotov at them and they caught fire. Macdonald's gun fired around chaotically as he flailed, and a couple of bullets found their way into Jenny's stomach, in what must have been excrutiating pain. A couple more hit Curie herself, damaging her main frame and destabilising her rocket propelling. Jenny had at least given MacDonald a more worthy fate than an eternal slave.

Yet as the Other commanded, a legion more came, encircling her. Curie could see in her eyes that her hope was lost. Her black hair was now glistening grey from the snow, and blood ran down her cheeks from the injuries she sustained.

She turned to Curie, who was busy backing away from the Other as the remaining robots were dispatched by it. "They're in your hands now. Lead them down to safety, don't let them fall to this, and..." Jenny hesitated, and for the first time ever, she could see tears welling up in Jenny's eyes. She seemed aware of this and looked back at the incoming horde. As she did this, Curie noticed her pull a pin out of a Nuka grenade. She finally spoke again. "...avenge me." She charged into the wight horde, with daggers and axes in hand. Curie, noticing her courage, charged towards the Other in her own act.

The explosion knocked nearly everyone off their feet. Curie bumped the White Walker off its feet as she was sent flying from the blast, unaffected by the radiation. It would be impossible to say the same for her human comrades now. The wildlings, without their radiation would suffer significant issues even if they survived today. They had not taken Radaway on their expedition, and so this would need to be treated back home. Her mind was always on those less fortunate than her, but it meant she could no longer see the threat in front of her.

Before her, the Other put its weapon away and walked towards her, with a mild but fading limp. It took its hand out, with what appeared to be a magical residue developing around it. Though she offered no outward expression or words as it approached, she reminisced. _This is it. My life's works in vain, our mission in vain. Doomed to wander the Earth the pawns of things that should not be._ She prepared herself for the end.

"Not today!" Deacon had gotten up again, and jammed the obsidian blade into an opening in the elbow joint of the Other's armour. It screached out in pain as it's arm started to disintegrate upon contact. It collapsed again on the ground and he assisted her up out to retreat, along with the other survivors.

With Peterson covering their tracks with his refuels flamethrower, they started on their way south. The mission had been a failure, and a terrible one at that. Things that shouldn't As she looked around, she asked- "where is Private Alan?" To the others.

"He ran off when the last of his robots were destroyed. No one knows where he went." One of the Minutemen sharpshooters noted. Something must have snapped with in him, she reckoned.

Marek was cradling a crippled Rugas in his arms as they marched downward from the cold. Two Minutemen assisted him with this to make the carrying quicker and less at risk from any pursuing wights.

As she looked back, she saw the Other had cut its arm off to save itself from the spreading obsidian-induced rot, and was stumbling towards the robots it had dispatched. She could see other bright blue eyes, at least eight, over the side of the cliff from where it came. They had ceased pursuing them, but for what reasons?

Deacon came by her as the others went ahead, scouring the back. "It's...it's like nothing I've ever seen. That must be what Mance Rayder's trying to lead the wildlings away from! There could be hundreds, maybe thousands more out there! How can we defend from that? How?"

Curie was concerned. They showed weakness only to obsidian, a volcanic metal present in little of Westeros or the Wasteland. "I cannot say, other than their weakness of obsidian is of note. We need to tell the others down south about what happened here! We cannot afford more losses."

Deadon sighed. "Assuming anyone even believes is. But we have to try. You tell the other Minutemen, and I'll tell my contacts. We need to save as many as possible. The more there are killed, the more they can use their...magic to raise." He showed clear discomfort stating this.

She struggled to find a rational answer. "I shall sort us out as we for south."

After several miles, Curie took her chance. The group settled by some rocks on the side of a mountain, one of the many frozen peaks of the Frostfangs, and sat down. Now, she could tend to Rugas' broken arm. Some soldering, alcohol covering and antiseptics were required, with him being too out of consciousness to cry out in pain as one normally would. Once this was done, she turned to the others.

"Minutemen, Woodhides. Whoever we are, today we must realise that there is more to this world than meets the eye. One perspective of science can live in conflict with one of magic, or one can find compliment or wholeness in the other. Things that should not be dwell in those lands and March south. Unless we unite together, as people and as sentient beings, I fear the worst."

Marek looked up to her. "This is it. The Long Night is coming. Just as the millennia old takes told us. We thought they were stories too, yet I saw one with my own eyes. No wonder of your technologies can save us now. We need to march south or else we face certain doom." Others around him nodded. They had lost too much today to fight more.

"Very well. We shall research this 'Long Night' and find out about it. But we shall not give up hope. It is not a body of flesh, or a brain that makes us human beings. It is not our DNA even, or our process of thinking. Hope is what makes us human; without it we are lost. And without our hope, all is lost. Fight for survival, for truth, for justice. Now and always." The group cheered, with whatever energy they had left in them.

If Fjorn and the others still breathed, they too would need to know what had happened here, and the Wasteland needed to know even more. They had seen a nuclear winter last decades, and now they faced a winter that could last forever!


	38. Jon Snow (III)

Jon Snow looked ahead into the valley before him, one ravaged by time and by men. The invisible fires of the wasteland scorched on the 'geiger' counter that he held in his hand as he looked on ahead into the ruins. This is where his new life lead him. To a land that was not his own, so far, yet so close to Winterfell and the Starks. But he was no Stark himself. As little as the Minutemen cared for one's upbringing, his own people could never allow a bastard to watch over their homes, even the bastard of the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark. These lands already felt noticeably colder than they had when he first arrived. The weather of the North was overwhelming them. It wouldn't be long till snow came down on them.

"We're getting closer now," his garrison leader Hector Terrance noted. He was a tall man- nearly as tall as King Robert, with a bushy, square beard on his jaw and a hairy chest, the same colour as his fading grey hair. Hector wore a bulletproof vest under his uniform and a trench coat, while a fedora hat was on his head, hardly supported by his upturned hair. His accent gave him away as someone who had come from the 'Capital Wasteland', as Preston had educated him. "The ruined factory got lost three weeks ago and now the Ferals have overwhelmed local defences. It's time we brought them back into line!" As a local hero, Jon felt proud that he had been chosen for a potentially dangerous mission. These Ferals should be easy compared to a sentry-bot, or at least less physically demanding.

Garvey had left him with Hector south of Sanctuary, aiming to reestablish control over the lost settlements. Ghost was still there, guarding the parameters, taking the role the much smaller Dogmeat had taken before the shifting of worlds. With the Minutemen and their organised enemies like gunners as well as the monsters expanding out into Westeros, they struggled more and more to man their old lands and settlements, and so the raiders and supermutants took back what had been there's.

Rumours persisted of some Lannister men coming in and sacking a couple of settlements, even taking the survivors to Harrenhall. He had heard one of the companies hired had collapsed here as well. Such action would never normally be tolerated in his Father's lands, but the Commonwealth was alien, and Jon understood the King had sent men to explore the region, if only briefly. Jon couldn't see what justified sacking Minutemen territory though. This could only lead to some sort of war between the two factions. It was almost as if the Lannisters wanted some kind of confrontation with the Starks!

His father's words rang true even with a gun in his hands instead of Ice. "He who passes the sentence swings the sword." He whispered to himself as he moved ahead into the factory, near the opening. The partially rotted corpses of Minutemen lay around the entrance. The smell was excruciating to the nostrils. Jon felt the wrenching in his stomach at the stench, and the sight of broken skin and rotted eye sockets staring ahead, as if still in shock at what took them. Dead men told no tales, that was known. He knew not these men, but honour demanded they be avenged.

"Scout the parameter" Hector pointed his rifle as he and the other minutemen scouts went to the door's edges, in case some enemy came out and tried to slaughter them as they had the previous occupants. Jon heard a low hiss from inside, and some of the other minutemen started to shudder. They knew what was happening. Hector seemed to ignore them though. A fool's gambit.

"I think we head in now." Jon could see beads of sweat on the man next to him. Hector grunted. "What are you waiting for, corporals? Get in there!" Jon took a breath and they barged through the doors and went in.

The corridor was dark and damp, and there was a taste of blood in the air. Clearly there had been signs of conflict here more recent than the deaths of the Minutemen. Ghoul corpses were present, their bones chewed to a paste. Some of it was recent. The odd raider signature was present too, but they too littered the ground. Yet another party had infiltrated this building following the Minutemens' repulsion from this building. Jon felt like he would be finding out what soon.

The lights flickered as Jon went down a corridor alongside Hector himself. The others went straight ahead. The flickering lights reminded Jon of lightning in the night skies, something he had seen on some of the harsher nights in Winterfell. Now there was no castle to provide him shelter, only broken ruins. Still, he looked ahead towards destiny and danger.

"You see anything, Corporal?" His victory against the Sentry bot and saving the others had allowed him to climb a rank quickly within the Minutemen, and perhaps he would have new positions after the day was done. Assuming he lived long enough to see it all. "Or perhaps smell anything? Not being used to the scents of the Wasteland should give you an edge if anything's off, I reckon." Jon felt confused. It seemed Hector could sense this confusion on his face too.

"No smells...ser." He turned to Hector and back towards the corridor. He slowly stalked, as if listening in on the sound of some deer. Maybe it was one here. He had seen two-headed deer in the wilderness of the Commonwealth, feasting on what meagre vegetation dwelled here. But how could it scour an entire camp clean? "Ser, what could have killed these raiders? Why aren't they hear for us to bring to justice?" Hector looked ahead through the corridor, stained with blood around.

"I'd say those ghouls overwhelmed them for certain. The question is what overwhelmed them?" It seemed he was still looking for whatever threat laid here. A creature of some form?

Growing up, Old Nan had told him the stories of monsters that once roamed the world in the days of old. Of Direwolves, Giants, of Grumpkins and Snarks, and the terrible Others. Father had told him these creatures were dead for thousands of years, if they ever existed at all. And yet that day when the direwolf pups had been found in the Wolfswood had disproven that. From what Jon Snow had seen and heard, there were even worse things dwelling in this Commonwealth.

The bloatflies and "radroaches" were a nuisance, as were the huge mosquitoes present. Some of the most disturbing of them were the ghouls; terrible parodies of men with rotten flesh and mindless hunger like the wights of Old Nan's tales. Jon had only rarely seen the truly terrible creatures of this cursed Wasteland. The eight-foot tall green men and their monstrous hounds, the gigantic crabs that could cut through chainmail like scissors, poisonous dragonflies, giant manticores like those in the East, hairless bears and the Old-Gods-know what else were things he had seen or heard.

Gunshots were heard in the distance, along with frantic activity. Hector turned around. "Shit! There's been an attack!" He ran along the corridor they were on, past the old chimneys of the factory. Jon followed hesitantly.

"Ser, shouldn't we follow them and help?" This seemed like cravenhood to him. "What could be there?"

Hector seemed hesitant. "They're trained Minutemen. They can deal with it."

"But ser, some of them are smallfolk who picked up guns a few weeks ago!" He stood in front of Hector, though the man towered over him. "What aren't you telling me?" Had he led them here in a trap?

"You don't want to know kid! I have a feeling this is a whole lot more dangerous than we first thought. Run, now!" The gunshot sounds were getting less frequent. Maybe whatever caused the conflict was now dead? Or only injured?

The look of the 'office' of this factory was in squalor. Letters, books and toys were thrown all over the floor and desks, as were various objects Jon did not know. He barely recognised the 'computers' he had only recently been introduced to, and the accessories on tables were all completely new. Huge claw marks on the walls overshadowed smaller ones that looked like they had been made by savage ghouls. What dominated the right corner of the former office intrigued Jon more. A bunch of branches, detritus and unused plastics and toys made up what looked like a nest. In it lay some large eggs, as those of a quail or chicken, but much bigger. One of the eggs began to shake. A clicking sound could be heard from within. Is this what the hatched dragons sounded like when the Targaryens bred them? Was this-

"Shit!" Private Helen exclaimed as she came in, presumably from another entrance. "It's a goddamn Deathclaw nest!" Hector went white with fear. Jon didn't know what was happening. Nevertheless, he got his rifle ready. He wasn't sure if it would be enough.

Two former smallfolk, Loren Sweettooth and Blotchface came bashing through the door on the opposite side of the office. They both had blood on their outfits, and their magazine cartridges were empty. They looked half-mad.

"Mmm...monster." Blotchface said as he pointed back, his free skin white as snow, though his blotches remained red like a tomato. The sound of gunshots echoed throughout the corridor, as did pounding on the metal railings. This 'deathclaw' was coming.

An ear piercing raw was launched in Hector's and Jon's direction, presumably because of the nests. A call from the depths of hell, if such a place even was. What was coming for him certainly resembled something demonic. Jon readied his rifle, but the beast's thick hide made it seem that even that might not be enough.

The charge of the ten foot tall horned lizard felt as if it were the fire of a dragon, as if the air itself was heated and shook by the force of this creature moving forward. It's claws like swords on each finger, its stare as it rushed forward must have been like the dragons of Valyria. But they were gone, and this creature was ahead of him here. His finger itched towards the trigger.

He could feel the recoil in his hands as the bullets flew out of the gun. Even after the training he had received, it felt unnatural to wield death in such a simple way. Training in the courtyard of Winterfell had taken so much effort with a sword, and even more with a bow and arrow, yet now Jon or anyone for that matter could kill simply with the flick of a trigger.

He screamed out along with the creature as it cried in response to the bullets hitting its soft underbelly. Yet it was only soft by comparison to its seemingly impenetrable armour. Helen ran in front of him to protect him from what was coming. A blast from Helen's shotgun caused the great beast to stagger back for a split second. Hector shouted at him some line of leaving presumably, but Jon couldn't hear it over the screaching of beast and metal. Jon had no time to look back as shotgun blasts and the sound of flesh being shredded filled the air. He didn't need to look back to realise that Helen was a martyr in the battle against chaos.

They ran down the steel corridor away from the raging reptile, where the door was too narrow for it, into railings. There was a two-way split in the structure. One of the ends had collapsed though into a pool of water. Jon turned to the upper pathway, but he felt a firm push against him.

"Nothing personal," he heard Hector say as he fell. "But it's for the greater good." He landed on the ground in a thud, though the shallow water cushioned his fall if only a little. The rattling of the deathclaw trying to get through drowned out any other noises. He felt a crack in his shoulder, and a fierce, stabbing pain there. Barely he clung on to consciousness, though all felt as if it were accelerated.

 _By the Old Gods, this aches,_ he felt as he was awakening from his unconsciousness. As he got up finally, the sounds were fainter than before. The hissing of the deathclaw as it moved was faint now. The others were probably dead now. Hector had betrayed him, for why he did not know. Now he had to figure a way out of these broken ruins.

His fingers were the next part of him to move, then his arms, as he slowly started to move his arms around to feel his surroundings. The water here must have been several inches thick. It was fortunate he had landed on his back, or else he could have drowned here. He didn't know how long he was around here. As his arms moved him up, he felt his clothes were waterlogged from the time he had soaked in. He called out. "Hello?" He heard no answer. He called it again louder, with more strain in his voice. _Nothing. I know nothing._

His cracked shoulder had no bleeding on it fortunately, but any chance of him using a two handed gun, let alone a sword, were very slim. He didn't have the cryolator on him either to freeze the water, so he was all alone here.

 _Or so he thought._ As he looked around, he saw that he was not alone after all. Horrible wights out of Old Nan's tales were present here too. Rotted and waterlogged, they were staring back at him, with vacant eyes, as if failing to comprehend he was really present. It must have been a long time since they had last seen food. _This is what I am now, food?_ What would Father think of him now? Failing to protect his people, and being betrayed by his own superiors? Would he have experienced this in the Night's Watch?

His rifle came out, aiming itself at the monsters, as they appeared to mutter under their breath, approaching him. "Watcher...run...he's coming...Watcher..." What little words they had degenerated into the mumblings of madmen as they started to run towards Jon. Instinctively, he ignored his gun and went for the sword Father had given him before he went off to join the Minutemen.

The first swing a chop into the shoulder of the first ghoul, what had once been a man, though too broken to be recognised. The second, a wragged former woman, tackled him as it moved- it was as if these scrawny creatures had the strength of King Robert! As Jon pushed the wretch off him, he realised that they merely had a mad savagery to them, and were not too strong at all. He jammed his blade into its side, causing it to writhe in a primitive pain, though it did nothing to stop its assault. He used the chance to get up and swing his blade into its' unarmoured head, causing it to be split all the way down to the nose. The former woman collapsed.

As the first ghoul came back to him, another swing of his sword found its way into its neck, with blood spurting out, with the savage creature not having any sense to cover its wound, only weakening as it tried to flail itself at Jon. These were more frightening to him than the Deathclaw had been. At least the Deathclaw was an inhuman monster, and not some something that had once been a man. He felt sympathy for these poor things, a tragedy if there was ever one. But he had no time to mourn these monsters, for he needed to find his other soldiers.

The bottom of the floor of the factory was littered with the bones of small animals. Mutated ones that seemed unnatural compared to what he knew in the North. Some had a third socket on their skulls for eyes, not like any animals Maester Luwin had showed him as a child. He could see drops of blood coming down from the walkways above, probably the blood of his fellow minutemen.

As he ascended the walks, he could hear the creaking of them. He wished he was in the crypts of Winterfell now. He wished he was in the courtyard with Robb and Bran, practising swordsplay, not slaying monsters and metal abominations, defending people who he scarcely knew. Ghost would be at his side, and Father looking on, proud. That would be what he aimed for.

As he reached the top, he heard a shush, and behind a couple of wooden crates, once used for transporting armaments, he saw Loren Sweettooth in hiding, holding an assault rifle, calmly waiting for the Deathclaw to emerge again. Jon slowly inched his way up to him, not wanting to disturb the beast as it fed on the flesh of the other minutemen.

Loren pointed to his sword. "You used that?" He grinned, showing his disgustingly rotted teeth. He spoke in a faint whisper. "I guess we can't leave our past behind, can we? Out there, I'm just a smallfolk, and you the bastard son of Eddard Stark. But right now, we're on the same level. And if we're not careful, we're both about to become supper!"

Jon replied. "Hector betrayed me. He left me for dead with ghouls, and he never said why." Jon wiped the ghoul blood off his blade, and got his rifle out. A sword was not going to do well against a ten foot tall lizard, like the wyverns of Sothyros, but far more attitude.

"By the Old Gods!" He said. "We can't trust anyone now, can we? I think I saw him try to go out, but the Deathclaw got im!" _There is still justice in this world,_ Jon thought to himself. _If only it wasn't selective._

Loren put his hand on Jon's head and forced him down to duck. Jon couldn't see what was happening, but the sound of a gutteral moan, like those of lizard lions he had seen in Commonwealth rivers, indicated the Deathclaw had come out. He peaked around for the briefest moment, and saw it dragging a bloodied corpse into the main office. He couldn't see who it was, but it was almost certainly one of his old comrades.

"How did we come to this, Snow? That two men of the North survived when Minutemen veterans died? I can hardly take it in!" He almost spoke at normal volume while saying this, but shushed himself to not alert the beast. Jon looked ahead. The beast was gone now, so he could make a move. He stopped just before he entered the office. There was a voice from within!

 _"Terrance, come in! This is an emergency! Do you copy? I repeat, so you copy?"_ The voice said on the intercom. _What could that be,_ he thought. What he noticed more was a note that seemed to be laid by one of the bodies the deathclaw had found for storage.

Jon saw Hector's body in the pile, mauled almost beyond recognition. _A traitors' death indeed,_ Jon sneered to himself. He saw the bloody note was in Hector's pocket. He nabbed it out and crawled back from whence he came. He had neither his weapons not Ghost, so today was not the day for him to face a Deathclaw. Not without the Cryolator at least.

The two of them retreated round the side till they heard more noises. A silver tuft was clear from one of the desks, next to a curious bobble head. Grey Gary had survived! As had a few other ragged Minutemen. It seemed they had survived by hiding too. Gary looked up. "Thank God you guys made it out! Shame the same can't be said about the captain or Sally!" The others nodded.

Jon spoke. "I certainly cannot say the same regarding the captain, Gary." He got out the note and started to read it.

 _"Ok, you want a way out? Here's how it is. We need the codes to the armory of mininukes in the Glowing Sea. A little bird told me that they're located within Poseidon Energy Plant. You're at an advantage given you lead a team of Minutemen on your own._

 _Send them into the Deathclaw nest in your old base, lure everyone into a false sense of security, get the codes, wherever they are, and make sure no-one gets out alive. Try luring them close to the Deathclaw, 'accidentally' push off a rail, leave them to the ghouls, that kind of thing. Any stragglers, you know what to do._

 _When, and only when you get those codes for the armory, will you get your caps._

 _Here from you soon,_

 _Ironeye."_

Clearly even his commanders couldn't be trusted if this letter was true.

"Captain Terrance was a traitor who sold us out to raiders for money, who clearly didn't care about the principles, we, you stand for. He spoke of keys for some sort of 'code' for weapons." Jon said solemnly, though he was really content the traitor was dead.

"Goddamn." He heard one of the minutemen say.

"Let me have a look." Gary said. He scowered through while Jon crouched down, with Loren looking overshoulder for the Deathclaw. "Yeah this is bullshit! There were never any codes here. We had this base for weeks and noone found it. These raiders were just screwing with him all along to make us weaker! Shows how petty they really are. All those that aren't Forged or...that other one, are scrounging around now. Now come on, let's get outta here!" Now they just had to sneak past the monster as it wondered.

Jon tip-toed past the pile of bodies, and saw that the monster slept next to the nest with the eggs. Each egg could feed a man for at least a day, but now was not the time for such pleasantries. The faint lights of the artificial lamps shone of the beast's armour like some stones of the caves. Like dragonglass. Now Jon could finally see the exit again.

Once they left those dead remains, Jon wiped the sweat from his brow. The hard part was over. Now he needed the job of what had happend with Hector to them, the note in his pocket. At least nothing worse could-

"This is an emergency broadcast! He heard on the handheld radio that Hector had given him. _What could it be now?_ "I repeat an emergency broadcast!" It repeated.

"Has the Castle been attacked?" Loren Sweettooth asked. It was possible. Before Jon could respond-

"What's happening?" Jon could hear Preston's voice through another intercom. "Report."

"A supermutant army is marching north east outside the Commonwealth- the biggest one since Diamond City! There's hundreds of them here, with all sorts of weapons! They've got hounds, centaurs and behemoths with them too! They're heading for Whiteharbour!"

"Whiteharbour" Jon spoke aloud. Loren knew what he spoke of too, though Grey Gary and the other Wastelanders were confused. He turned to the battered survivors. "I know we're all exhausted and afraid for our lives, but this was but a small part of our battle. Whiteharbour is the North's only city and port, with much of the North's wealth there too. Thousands of smallfolk, men, women, children, and many traders from all around the world, including your Commonwealth. If those green savages take the city, they'll burn it to the ground and everyone in it! The North cannot stand alone! Are we going to let that happen?" All of the survivors shouted in rejection, though none said the same things.

He got out his compass and turned to the east on that, as he saw the coast and the distant outline of the New Castle. "Good. Get rest, for tomorrow, we save a city!" The men cheered. In truth, the boy had never been more so afraid.


End file.
